The elder lady turned at the address, and saw a tall, slender young man, with a pale, refined face. The college cap under his arm betrayed that he belonged to the collegiate school; otherwise, she had thought him too old for a king's scholar. "You are very kind. In a few moments. But we ought to wait until this song that they are beginning is over." It was not a song, but a duet--and a duet that had given no end of trouble to the executive management--for none of the ladies had been found suitable to undertake the first part in it. It required a remarkably clear, high, bell-like voice, to do it justice; and the cathedral organist, privately wishing the concert far enough--for he had never been so much pestered in all his life as since he undertook the arrangements--proposed Henry Arkell. And Mrs. Lewis, who took the second part, was fain to accept him: albeit, the boy was no favourite of hers. "How singularly beautiful!" murmured the elder lady to Travice Arkell, as the clear voice burst forth. "Yes, he has an excellent voice. The worst of him is, he is timid. He will out-grow that." "I did not allude to the voice; I spoke of the boy himself. I never saw a more beautiful face. Who is he?" Travice smiled. "It is Henry Arkell, Lucy's brother, and my cousin." "Ah! I knew his mother once. Mrs. St. John was telling me her history last night. Anne, my dear, you have heard me speak of Lucy Cheveley: that is her son, and it is the same face. Then you," she continued, "must be Mr. Travice Arkell? Hush!" For the duet was in full force just then, and Mrs. Lewis's rich contralto voice was telling well. "Who is she?" asked Travice of Lucy in a whisper. "Mrs. James. She's the governess," came the answer. When the duet was over, Travice Arkell held out his arm to Mrs. James. "If you will do me the honour of taking it, the getting through the crowd may be easier for you," he said. But Mrs. James drew back, as she thanked him, and motioned him towards the younger lady with her. So Travice took the younger lady; not being quite certain, but suspecting who she was; and Mrs. James and Lucy followed as they best could. And his reward was a whole host of daggers darted at him--if looks can dart them. The two ladies were complete strangers to the aristocracy of the grounds; and seeing Peter Arkell's daughter in their wake, the supposition that they belonged in some way to that renowned tutor, but obscure man, was not unnatural. Mrs. Lewis, who had come down to her sofa then, and Mrs. Aultane, who sat with her, were especially indignant. How dared that class of people thrust themselves at the top of the room amidst them? "Travice," said Mrs. Arkell, bending forward from one of the cross benches, and pulling his sleeve as he passed on, "you are making yourself too absurd!" "Am I! I am very sorry."