Tremenhere stood an instant in the doorway; he had been sitting in Lord Randolph's room with him, ever since quitting the one assigned to him, after changing his dress for dinner. His arrival had occurred, as those things do in country houses--a matter of no moment, or object of inquiry to any one. He came--sat in his host's room--dressed for dinner--descended to the drawing-room--and, until Lady Dora looked up from her own thoughts, and saw him at the door, no one knew an addition had taken place to the circle assembled at Uplands. As he entered, the two dowagers raised their eyes carelessly, and glanced over him. He was some gentleman, or he wouldn't be there,--one of the common mould, doubtless. People always take this for granted, till the lion slips out of the ass's skin in which their imaginations clothe him, and shows his fangs and claws; then folks either put themselves into a position of defence, or try to cut his claws; but this latter is rather a dangerous game, unless, like the picture of a celebrated artist, Monsieur Camille Roqueplan, the lion become "_amoureux_," and then any thing may be done with him by the one loved hand. We digress--Miles was an ass in the dowagers' eyes--one of their host's mould; so they glanced him over, and, _sotto voce_, continued their perforations in somebody's character. Lady Dora started, and coloured--then her fingers still strolled over the keys like a breeze among flowers, calling forth sweet odours--or a child in a garden, culling a single leaf of different buds, and scattering them carelessly about; for she only played a strain here and there, nothing through. "I hope Lady Dora is well?" asked Miles, gently, as he stood beside her. "Quite so, I thank you," she coldly replied, bowing over her hands, which did not cease. Though Miles had keenly felt, without expressing it to Minnie, her cousin's neglect, still he forbore speaking of it to her, lest it might aggravate her pain, he was so watchful over this darling wife of his; still he fancied some engagement, fashionable indolence, or absence from home, occasioned it; any thing but the truth--wilful slight. He was therefore not prepared for her reception of him; he stood a moment silent, looking down on the flying fingers, and many thoughts creeping over his mind, scarcely leaving a trace, but faintly shadowing an idea, that this girl had loved him, her change of manner was so extraordinary since their parting in Italy. "I was not aware," he said at last, in commonplace phraseology, "that I should have the pleasure of meeting with your ladyship here." He was working with homely tools to get at a great truth--this girl's sentiments--they puzzled him; had she replied in a natural manner, he would have sought no farther, convinced that his impression had been erroneous. As it was, she answered with stern pride--