Was it true, as some said, that Sir George had bought over Mrs. Lascelles by a large debt won from her at piquet, to back him in all his endless idle schemes and intrigues, and to play into his hand in the fickle, evil aims of the life at once of a Sir Fribble and a Lovelace? Did the solution lie in an unauthorised, low-toned love between the wickedly good-natured pair, who, with the wisdom of the serpent, held the passion in check, and preserved their cool, careless mask, trusting faintly that death might one day interpose in their behalf, and remove Mrs. Lascelles’s husband, or waiting deliberately till the love rooted in ashes and fed on malignant vapours, should be surely and for ever extinguished? As for Mrs. Lascelles’s husband, he played no prominent part in the drama, and put in no claim for sympathy. He was as basely indifferent as the others; he simply tolerated his wife, and accorded her his protection, so long as she did not outrage it. In reality there was no public scandal concerning these people; but Harry Fane could not endure to see Lady Bell Trevor with them, on intimate terms, and she was still seated between the two in the barge. Mrs. Lascelles wriggled as a serpent wriggles its glossy spots, and shot forth unholy green fire, dragon-like, on the right of Lady Bell. On the left lounged Sir George, as a splendid sleek tiger steps stealthily before it springs, and even when it is too gorged and not greedy enough to spring, bites in wanton playfulness. Lady Bell was so ignorant of the true nature of such persons, that she stopped short with admiring their orange and sable glories; she was tickled and taken with, rather than repelled, by the green fire of Mrs. Lascelles’s brilliant scandal, and the playful biting of Sir George’s half-caressing, highly cultivated cynicism,—something altogether different from Harry Fane’s wholesome, blustering criticism. In addition to Lady Bell’s ignorance, her perceptions were slightly warped, so that she was disposed to be but too lenient to the hole whence she herself had been dug, and the pit from which she had been drawn. The barge swept along, among other and less ornamental barges laden with hay, coals, sheep, and pigs, past wharfs and piers, under bridges, below balconies and projecting stories of buildings, by gables of houses—until it left stone and lime behind, and reached green banks and lawns, though the trees still stretched brown, gnarled, or drooping boughs, sharp and unclothed, against the blue of the sky. There was just the dimly sweet, green budding of a fine February to tell that spring was at hand. Lady Bell smiled brightly and chatted freely with her chosen companions.