She was attired in a loose white gown, supposed to be after the Greek pattern, and her arms were bare, the loose sleeves caught up with a large brooch. She wore her hair in a plain band with a fillet, and cut low on the forehead. This lady had sat for her portrait to Gainsborough in her youth, now long past, and she had become very stout since those days, when many reigning belles repaired to Gainsborough's studio in Ainslie's Belvedere. She talked in a loud voice, and Leslie's attention was soon diverted from his companion, as he caught a name dear to him. "Miss Mainwaring is a beauty, no doubt of that," the lady said; "but a trifle stiff and heavy in manner. Why is she absent to-night? _You_ ought to know, Sir Maxwell." Sir Maxwell stroked his chin, and said: "Perhaps she is better engaged, from all I know. Miss Mainwaring's behaviour is a little eccentric." "Is there a romance connected with her? I do love a bit of pretty romance. You know the _on dit_ is that she is to be Lady Danby?" "My dear lady," Sir Maxwell said, "it is not safe to trust to _on dits_. From what I have heard, Miss Mainwaring's tastes lie in a somewhat lower level of society than that in which you, for instance, live and move. There are, it seems, attractions for Miss Mainwaring in a quarter of the town where we look for actors and actresses, and such-like cattle--that is, supposing that we desire their acquaintance off the stage--which I, for one, do not!" "I really hardly credit what you say; I vow I can't believe it. There's some mistake, Sir Maxwell." "I wish I could agree with you," was the reply; "it is a matter which affects me very deeply. I do assure you----" At this moment it was Sir Maxwell's turn to take the hand of Leslie's partner, and he repeated in a voice which he meant should reach his ear: "Miss Mainwaring, the lady in question, pays daily and nighty visits to these low purlieus. Charity is made the pretext, of course." The dance was over, and the hour for departure drew on. Leslie Travers watched his opportunity, and lay in wait for Sir Maxwell in one of the lobbies. He was passing him with a lady on his arm, when Leslie said: "A word with you, sir, in private. I demand an apology for the shameful lies you are circulating. They are lies, and----" "Softly, softly, my dear boy; let the presence of a lady be remembered." "Oh! pray let us have no high words!" the lady said. "For mercy's sake, don't quarrel, gentlemen!" "Madam," Leslie Travers said, in an excited voice, "you have heard the basest slanders uttered against--against one whom I would not name in such company. Look you, sir," Leslie said, seizing the velvet sleeve of Sir Maxwell's coat--"look you, sir; you have been a liar, and you are now a coward. I will prove it." "Come, come, gentlemen; no brawling here," said the master of the ceremonies, bustling up. "Settle your matters elsewhere. A man of honour has his remedy."