When Mr. Waddy rang his bell in the morning after the stable scene, no Chin Chin appeared, and inquiry developed the fact that Chin Chin was sick. Ira’s toilet may, therefore, not have been quite so accurate as usual, and the polish on his neat calfskins not so mirrorlike. In fact, he had too many anxieties crowding around, to concern himself much with cravat ties and the gleaming boot. He sent his groom, a Bowery boy, _pur sang_, to care for Chin Chin. “He ain’t dangerous, sir,” that worthy returned to report, “but he’s been a-gulpin’ down suthin’ as has kicked up a bobbery in his innards.” “Very well,” said Mr. Waddy; “have Pallid ready for eleven o’clock. How does he look this morning?” “He’s as gay, sir, as a house afire,” Bowery assured him. “Yer kin bet yer life on it, he’ll rake ’em down!” and Bowery departed, humming cheerfully to himself, confident of being richer ere the day was over. Major Granby dropped in upon his friend a moment later. “I’m losing my interest in this race,” said Waddy, “since Dunstan’s unwillingness to ride has become so evident. Poor fellow! I’m afraid there’s very little hope for Diana.” “Don’t say so,” protested Granby; “the world cannot spare that noble girl. I was just speaking with Skerrett of her. He says she is the only woman he ever knew who is afraid of neither fresh air nor sunshine. And Clara--how can that beautiful friendship be severed? You can hardly imagine how those sisters have quartered themselves in my rusty old heart. Did you ever hear them speak of Miss Sullivan, their governess? She must be a remarkable person.” “Sullivan? No,” said Waddy, connecting the name at once with his preserver at The Island. “A lady of that name did me a service once. I must ask them about her.” “Dunstan will ride without fail, I suppose?” asked Granby. “We must beat that fellow Belden.” “Dunstan will hold to his word; if it were to drive the chariot of Tullia,” answered Ira, who had read his friend’s character aright. * * * * * Mrs. Budlong had an interview with Arabella early that morning. Arabella looked very tearful, but there was also a new expression in her face, thanks to Peter Skerrett--one might almost call it determination. “Well, my dear,” said the step-mother, “what shall I say to the lover? He is eager for the kind word of encouragement,” and Mrs. De Flournoy played affectionately with the young lady’s curls. “Tell him I hate him!” cried the poor penitent, bursting into tears again. “I hope, madam, you will never mention his name to me--no, not once more! Oh! oh! you hurt me.” The affectionate mamma had given the curls a little tug. “You silly fool!” said she, “don’t you know he can ruin your prospects? You’ll offend your father so that he’ll discard you, and then what will you do? If you are so dishonourable and disobedient, when we are striving for your good, we shall let you go to the destruction you choose.”