It was a drowsy afternoon; the bees buzzed lazily over a bed of mignonette, which sent its fragrance far and near. Madeline’s book lay neglected in her lap. Her thoughts were far from it and Clane; they were with a certain hard-working barrister in London, who had written her a very rough, outspoken letter. Poor Laurence! Why could he not wait? Why could he not have patience? He was beginning to get on so well. She had seen a long review of one of his articles in _Tooth and Nail_. He was becoming quite a literary celebrity. And, once he was up the ladder, even a few rungs, she would not feel the change so bitter, supposing her father was furious and implacable. Of course it would be a change! And she sighed as she smoothed out her cambric gown--which had cost eighteen guineas--with a pretty, delicate hand, laden with magnificent rings. Could it be possible that those soft white hands had ever blackened grates and made beds and washed up plates? Oh, such greasy plates and dishes! “You seem to be in a day-dream, Miss West,” said Lord Anthony, as he approached, “and all the rest of the folk have gone to sleep.” “Have they?” she exclaimed. “Well, one cannot wonder! It is a broiling afternoon, and, after that long sermon, you must make allowances.” “Oh, I’m always making allowances. I’m an easy-going sort of fellow, you know,” and he cast himself into a well-cushioned chair. “I want to have a little talk with you.” Hitching this chair nearer he added, “May I?” “Why, of course! But are we in a talking humour? Isn’t it rather hot? Pray don’t bore yourself to entertain me! I can always amuse myself,” and she slowly agitated her great green fan. “Yes; I suppose you can say ‘My mind to me a kingdom is’?” he asked, with a smile. “I think I can,” she answered languidly. “I wish _I_ could say as much. My mind is a poor, barren, unpopulated country. I should like to take a trip into your territory, and share your pleasant thoughts, Miss West!” then suddenly spurred by a recollection of a solemn promise to his sister, and that he was wasting a golden opportunity, “I have something important to say to you.” “To say to _me_?” she echoed, with raised brows. “What can it be? What makes you look so strange? You are not feeling ill, are you?” “Ill! No; but my mind is ill at ease. Can you not form an idea why?” leaning forward as he spoke, and looking straight into her eyes. His look was an illumination to Madeline. But as yet she did not think of herself; she mentally glanced at lively Pamela, with her high spirits and low stature. She had seen her present companion carry his rather boisterous attentions to that young lady’s shrine. She amused him, and his loud, long laugh often resounded in her neighbourhood. He was come to ask for her good offices; but she did not suppose that Miss Pam would be unusually difficult to win. “Oh, I think I have an idea now,” she murmured, with a significant smile. “I have guessed.”