“I hope you did not mind my leaving you that time,” he began nervously. “Not at all,” she returned looking up at him; “why should I? Of course it was quite natural that you should go with Belle.” “You think it quite natural that I should leave you for her?” “Yes, of course I do,” she answered with a little nod and smile, but her pulses were throbbing fast. “Then you are mistaken, Betty,” he said leaning towards her. “If I had my own way I would never leave _you_ as long as I----” “Here she is! the very girl I want!” exclaimed Fred Moore, pushing back the portière. George turned and looked at him. At this moment he had never seen anyone he disliked as much as Fred, with his round fair head, pink shiny face, comfortable little figure, gold buttons, and grin. “Come along, Bet, you are engaged to me; come along,” he called out masterfully. “I am going to take you in to supper. Why, Betty”--scanning her curiously--“what’s this; you are as red as a rose; you are actually blushing. I never saw you blush before. Betty, you have performed a _feat_!” “I--I--how can you be so silly,” she stammered. “I don’t want any supper, but if you like I’ll go with you and look on.” “Nonsense; you need not be showing off before Holroyd. You have as fine an appetite as any girl I know; Holroyd, you come along too--you _may_. We will get to a little table by ourselves, and do a good business with oysters, and truffled boar’s head, and champagne--you could not be in better hands than mine--and that’s sound.” Perhaps George would have accepted this invitation to the unpopular post of “third” party, but for Belle, who entered with a partner at this moment, and said with an air of playful proprietorship: “Oh, Mr. Holroyd, this _is_ most fortunate! I know I can depend upon _you_ to look after poor mamma--here she is--she says she is quite faint with hunger.” Mrs. Redmond--who had at last shaken off Maria--was in a bland and chatty frame of mind, although intensely occupied with various toothsome comestibles--soup, salmon, ducklings, pâté de foie gras, all of which received her very best attention. She remained a long time in the supper-room--with George, so to speak, chained to the stake, and never noticed how silent and preoccupied he was; how often his eyes wandered to a little table, at which sat Betty, Miss Pink, and the brothers Moore, nor how restless he became, after they had risen and departed. Lady Mary was a fussy chaperon, and by the time Mr. Holroyd and his charge had returned to the ball-room, she and her young ladies were nowhere to be seen--they had gone home! Poor George! He had never wished Mrs. Redmond at Jericho! Never! CHAPTER II. “FOXY JOE TELLS TALES.” “For every inch that is not a fool is a rogue.” --DRYDEN.