So George went to dinner at Mrs. Pocklington's, and that lady, remorseless in parental discipline, sent Laura down to dinner with him; and, as everybody knows, there is nothing more pleasing and interesting than a pretty girl in a dignified pet. George enjoyed himself. It was a long time since he had flirted; but really now, considering Isabel's conduct, he felt at perfect liberty to conduct himself as seemed to him good. Laura was an old friend, and George determined to see how implacable her wrath was. "It's so kind of you to give me this pleasure," he began. "Pleasure?" said Laura, in her loftiest tone. "Yes; taking you down, you know." "Mamma made me." "Ah, now you're trying to take me down." "I wonder you can look any one in the face----" "I always enjoy looking you in the face." "After the things you've said about poor Neaera!" "Neaera?" "Why shouldn't I call her Neaera?" "Oh, no reason at all. It may even be her name." "A woman who backbites is bad, but a man----" "Is the deuce?" said George inquiringly. Laura tried another tack. "All your friends think you wrong, even mamma." "What does that matter, as long as you think I'm right?" "I don't; I don't. I think----" "That it's great fun to torment a poor man who----" George paused. "Who what?" said Laura, with deplorable weakness. "Values your good opinion very highly." "Nonsense!" George permitted himself to sigh deeply. A faint twitching betrayed itself about the corners of Laura's pretty mouth. "If you want to smile, I will look away," said George. "You're very foolish," said Laura; and George knew that this expression on a lady's lips is not always one of disapproval. "I am, indeed," said he, "to spend my time in a vain pursuit." "Of Neaera?" "No, not of Neaera." "I should never," said Laura, demurely, "have referred to Miss Bourne, if you hadn't, but as you have----" "I didn't." Presumably George explained whom he did refer to, and apparently the explanation took the rest of dinner-time. And as the ladies went upstairs, Mrs. Pocklington patted Laura's shoulder with an approving fan. "There's a good child! It shows breeding to be agreeable to people you dislike." Laura blushed a little, but answered dutifully, "I am glad you are pleased, mamma." Most likely she did not impose on Mrs. Pocklington. She certainly did not on herself. George found himself left next to Sidmouth Vane. "Hallo, Neston!" said that young gentleman, with his usual freedom. "Locked her up yet?" George said Mrs. Witt was still at large. Vane had been his fag, and George felt he was entitled to take it out of him in after life whenever he could. "Wish you would," continued Mr. Vane. "That ass of a cousin of yours would jilt her, and I would wait outside Holloway or Clerkenwell, or wherever they put 'em, and receive her sympathetically--hot breakfast, brass band, first cigar for six months, and all that, don't you know, like one of those Irish fellows."