Margaret was very curious to see this nobleman; and although she had thought Mr. Gage's remark very harsh, she was not much surprised at it when he made his appearance. He was ill-dressed, not very young, clumsy in his person, and heavy in the expression of his features. He stammered a good deal, and was not happy in his conversational powers. His ideas were rather slow of circulation. He had got it into his head that it was the duty of an Englishman to cultivate racing; and it would have taken more years than he was likely to live, to convince him that it was a pernicious and disgraceful occupation. He was very much on the turf, but he was just skilful and cautious enough neither to gain or lose much in a year by the vice. At the present moment, Harriet was the object of his attention, and he therefore talked of nothing else. One of the party congratulated him upon his horse, which had just won the race. "Yes," he said, "he was glad of it; for Miss Conway had betted upon Rory O'More." Miss Gage asked him "if he had any other horse running that day?" "No," he replied, "as he should leave the course presently. How was Miss Conway going home?" Lady Conway remarked to him, "that it was a cold day." "It was, indeed," he said, "he did not think Miss Conway seemed to be sufficiently wrapped up." Harriet replied to both his remarks at once. "She said, that she meant to drive herself home, and that she was quite warm enough." And by this time, the races being over for the day, and the company beginning to disperse, Harriet called to Margaret, and sent her brother to look for the carriage. Margaret was not sorry to be gone; she had a head-ache, which had been gradually growing worse, and she hoped that the fresh air would blow it away. Harriet lit another cigar as they went off the course; she asked Margaret again "if she objected to it?" and again Margaret said "No;" for though she thought it a very odd fancy in her companion, she did not find the smell disagreeable enough to oppose it. But her head became worse, and when she reached home, she was scarcely able to dress for dinner. She made an effort, however, and went down stairs. There were no candles in the drawing-room, which was dimly lighted by a very moderate fire. Margaret felt chilly, and took a chair as close as she could to the fire-place, next to a person who seemed to be in a uniform, as far as she could tell by the glimmering light. He entered into general conversation with her, and among other desultory remarks, asked her "if she meant to accompany her daughter to the ball that evening?" Margaret ascribed the mistake to the darkness, and contented herself with replying in the negative. The stranger was directed to take her into the dining-room, and as they came into a blaze of light on crossing the hall, he discovered that the lady he had the honour of escorting was young and beautiful; for he had mistaken her for Mrs. Somerton, who was about Margaret's height.