Lady Dora was not the affianced bride of Lord Randolph--true, he wished her to be his--so did Lady Lysson--so did Lady Ripley; but three affirmatives in this case, were conquered by one negative. Lady Dora said, when he proposed to her, "We do not know one another sufficiently yet;" and he was quite content to wait. Her beauty, position--all made him desire to make her his wife; but in truth she was not a person to inspire mad love in any one, except indeed, her despotic pride could bend, and the woman be all woman; but as it was he took it very calmly--she would be his some day, he presumed. But his love was not that St. Vitus' genus which makes a man ever restless--hot and cold all over, if another does but look at your love; or, like that deep-seated affection which bound Lady Lysson at sixteen to her "cat's cradle" cousin; and though a young lovely widow at twenty, deaf to every second offer, not seeing the _possibility_ of calling another--husband. Neither of these loves swayed Lord Randolph; it was a connubial and well-disposed affection, which pulls its Templar nightcap well over its ears, and falls asleep, perfectly assured of awaking as soon as ever it shall be called upon to do so. The cloth is gone--the ladies are gone, and the gentlemen sit alone--a cosey half-dozen. "So," said Dalby, at last, "I find Tremenhere, the artist, has been here; did he make a long stay?" "No," answered somebody, "only a day; we were sorry he quitted so soon. What a deuced pleasant, intelligent fellow he is!" "I think him very _hawnsome_," drawled a greyish-looking youth, like a raw March morning. "By jingo, yes!" chimed a third; "if I were a woman, he is just the man I'd fall over head and ears in love with." "Now, I don't think that," said the raw one, "he's too cold; and I don't quite like his long moustache." "Well," retracted the second speaker, "perhaps I said too much; he certainly is well-looking, but he wants style; and somehow the ladies don't seem to admire him--they are the best judges." "I tell you what," exclaimed Lord Randolph; "I think him one of the most distinguished-looking fellows I ever saw, and, were I in the service, would give half my pay for his moustache; why, 'tis the most perfect raven's wing I ever saw, and silky like his hair. My only surprise is, that one has never heard of any love affair of his; and here, as in Florence, he always moves in the best society." "Who is he?" asked an elderly epicure, waking up from a dream "in memoriam" of the exquisite dinner his host had set before them. "Oh! a--nobody, I believe," answered some one. "A decent family, I have heard, in the country; but then he is very unpresuming--that's one thing." "Faith!" answered Lord Randolph, "he was sought after, courted, by every one in Florence; but the fellow seemed to me to dislike society, like one absorbed either by his art, or some secret preying thoughts." "Perhaps he was a _government spy_," drawled the one before alluded to.