Paris; but, as nothing forced him to remain, he presumed the meeting would have nothing very painful for him. He looked upon it in this light: that in life, more than once, it has happened, that the law's divorcing power has made wives strangers to their husbands; and society, backed by the rules of etiquette and politeness, has brought these same husbands into almost daily intercourse, without collision--thus he felt it would be between Tremenhere and himself. There was something of a jealous pang, a memory of past insinuations, which made him wish to secure Lady Dora at once--all his love, as _he_ knew that passion, had revived for her. Now we will resume our narrative, where we left Miles sketching the dog. "Mr. Tremenhere," cried Lady Lysson, "why don't you speak, and assist me in fighting your battles?" "Mine? Lady Lysson!" he exclaimed, looking up. "Pardon me; I am compelled, though in gratitude for the intention doubtless, on your part, to disavow them as such. It has not been to oblige me, however pleasant the task, that Lady Dora sat for her portrait." "I am tired of the subject," uttered that lady, pettishly curling her haughty lip, and at the same time etching her sketch with a hasty pen. "I am perfectly ashamed of the length of time I have expended in pourtraying your beauties, Tiney," said Tremenhere; gravely shaking his head, "when I am compelled to notice the energy with which Lady Dora sketches her----What _is_ Lady Dora sketching?" he asked, rising slowly from his quiet seat, and crossing towards her. As he did so, however, pausing an instant before Lady Lysson, and dropping her favourite's picture in her outstretched hand, with-- "An offering, Lady Lysson, though not by a Landseer. May I look at your labour?" he asked, gently leaning over Lady Dora's chair. She felt his warm breath on her bent neck, and her cheek coloured. She tried to persuade herself it was indignation at his cool audacity, and indifference to her haughtiness; but her heart rejected the excuse, for Tremenhere was her equal, and now received every where as one thrown by accident, or roguery, from his allotted sphere. Even the least liberal could not speak of him as one raised above his real position. She felt herself colouring, and felt also that his eyes were bent upon her; and, hastily tearing the etching in two, cast it aside, saying-- "Pshaw! Mr. Tremenhere; my child's play could never interest a person of your genius; and I am too proud to play second to any one!" "_That_ you never could," he said, gallantly taking up the pieces, and rejoining them. "I declare, Lady Dora, I never saw you so cross in my life!" cried the gentle-tempered, lively Lady Lysson. "What has Mr. Tremenhere done to offend you? One would really take you for two----" She paused, suddenly and awkwardly--"children," she added, colouring. _Both_ felt the word she had omitted.