“You were in Persia, were you not?” asked one of the company. “Re’ely--not exactly in his part of Persia. Stamboul, the city of palaces, was my headquarters: but it’s much the same; indolence, beards, and tobacco are the characteristics of both races.” “Don’t you think he is charmingly handsome?” asked an old young lady, shaking her ringlets after a fashion which five years before had been a very “telling” manoeuvre. “Re’ely, I should scarcely have said so,” was the reply; “the boy is well enough for an Asiatic, I like a more--ahem!--manly style of thing.” And as he spoke he passed his hand caressingly over a violent pair of red whiskers which garnished his own hard-featured physiognomy. The cool impudence of this remark inspired Lewis with so intense a sentiment of disgust that his lip curled involuntarily, and he turned over the print before him with a gesture of impatience. On looking up he was rather disconcerted to find Laura Peyton’s piercing black eyes watching him curiously. “You’ve given us nothing new in the musical way lately, Lady Lombard,” observed the “sere and yellow leaf” damsel before alluded to. “I expect a lady to stay with me soon,” was the reply, “whom I _think_ you’ll be pleased with; she sings and plays in very_ first_-rate style.” “Indeed! Is she an amateur or professional, may I inquire?” “Why, _really_, my dear Miss Sparkless, you’ve asked a difficult question. The fact is,” continued Lady Lombard, sinking her voice, “it’s one of those _very_ sad cases, reduced fortune--you understand. I mean to have her here _merely_ out of charity.” Sinking her voice still lower, the following words only became audible: “Wife of a Captain Arundel--foreign extraction originally--quite a _mésalliance_, I believe.” As she spoke some new arrival attracted her attention, and she and her confidante left the boudoir together. It may easily be conceived with what feelings of burning indignation Lewis had listened to the foregoing remarks; but Frere’s lecture of the morning had not been without its fruits. With his anger the necessity for self-control presented itself, and he was congratulating himself at having checked all outward signs of annoyance when he was startled by a silvery voice whispering in his ear: “Persian or no Persian, sir, you understand English as well as I do;” and slightly turning, his eyes encountered those of Laura Peyton fixed on him with a roguish glance. His resolution was instantly taken, and he replied in the same tone: “Having discovered my secret, you must promise to keep it.” “Agreed, on one condition,” was the rejoinder. “And that is------?” asked Lewis. “That you immediately make a full confession and tell me all about it.” “It is a compact,” was the reply.