This course of thought took him some time, as we have said, during which his mother, a simple woman who was very proud of him, could not think why Arthur should be so slow to keep up with “his friends the Trevanions,” who ranked among the county people, and were quite out of her humble range. She said to her daughter that it was silly of Arthur. “He thinks nothing of them because he is used to the very first society both in London and abroad,” she said. “But he ought to remember that Clifton is different, and they are quite the best people here.” “Why don’t you go and see your fine friends?” she said to her son. “Oh, no, Arthur, I am not foolish; I don’t expect Mrs. Lennox and Miss Trevanion to visit me and the girls; I think myself just as good in my way, but of course there is a difference; not for you though, Arthur, who have met the Prince of Wales and know everybody-- I think it is your duty to keep them up.” At this he laughed, saying nothing, but thought all the more; and at last, at the end of a week, he came round to his mother’s opinion, and made up his mind that, if not his duty, it was at least a reasonable and not imprudent indulgence. And upon this argument he called, and was invited on the spot by Mrs. Lennox, who had just been saying how imprudent it was of John to have brought him to the house, to come and dine on Saturday. Thus things which have never appeared possible come about. He went on Saturday and dined, and as a bitter frost had come on, and all the higher world of the neighborhood was coming on Monday to the pond near the Elms to skate, if the frost held, was invited for that too; and went, and was introduced to a great many people, and made himself quite a reputation before the day was over. There never had been a more successful _début_ in society. And a _Times’_ Correspondent! Nobody cared who was his father or what his family; he had enough in himself to gain admittance everywhere. And he had a distinguished look, with his gray hair and bright eyes, far more than the ordinary man of his age who is beginning to get rusty, or perhaps bald, which is not becoming. Mr. Rivers’s hair was abundant and full of curl; there was no sign of age in his handsome face and vigorous figure, which made the whiteness of his locks _piquant_. Indeed, there was no one about, none of the great county gentlemen, who looked so imposing. Rosalind, half afraid of him, half drawn towards him, because, notwithstanding the dreadful disclosure he had made, he had admired and remembered the woman whom she loved, and more than half grateful to him for never having touched on the subject again, was half proud now of the notice he attracted, and because he more or less belonged to her party. She was pleased that he should keep by her side and manifestly devote himself to her. Thus it happened that she ceased to ask herself the question which has been referred to in previous pages, and began to think that the