The dinner was a success. Lord Tottlebury unbent; he was very cordial and, at moments, almost jovial. Gerald was in heaven, or at least sitting directly opposite and in full view of it. Mr. Blodwell enjoyed himself immensely: his classic stories had never yet won so pleasant a reward as Neaera's low rich laugh and dancing eyes. George ought to have enjoyed himself, for he was next to Isabel Bourne, and Isabel, heartily recognising that she was not to-night, as, to do her justice, she often was, the prettiest girl in the room, took the more pains to be kind and amusing. But George was ransacking the lumber-rooms of memory, or, to put it less figuratively, wondering, and growing exasperated as he wondered in vain, where the deuce he'd seen the girl before. Once or twice his eyes met hers, and it seemed to him that he had caught her casting an inquiring apprehensive glance at him. When she saw that he was looking, her expression changed into one of friendly interest, appropriate to the examination of a prospective kinsman. "What do you think of her?" asked Isabel Bourne, in a low voice. "Beautiful, isn't she?" "She is indeed," George answered, "I can't help thinking I've seen her somewhere before." "She is a person one would remember, isn't she? Was it in Manchester?" "I don't think so. I haven't been in Manchester more than two or three times in my life." "Well, Maud says Mrs. Witt wasn't brought up there." "Where was she brought up?" "I don't know," said Isabel, "and I don't think Maud knew either. I asked Gerald, and he said she probably dropped down from heaven somewhere a few years ago." "Perhaps that's how I come to remember her," suggested George. Failing this explanation, he confessed himself puzzled, and determined to dismiss the matter from his thoughts for the present. Aided by Isabel Bourne, he was very successful in this effort: a pretty girl's company is the best modern substitute for the waters of Lethe. Nevertheless, his interest remained strong enough to make him join the group which Gerald and Mr. Blodwell formed with Neaera as soon as the men went upstairs. Mr. Blodwell made no secret of the fact that it was with him a case of love at first sight, and openly regretted that his years prevented him fighting Gerald for his prize. Gerald listened with the complacent happiness of a secure lover, and Neaera gravely apologised for not having waited to make her choice till she had seen Mr. Blodwell. "But at least you had heard of me?" he urged. "I am terribly ignorant," she said. "I don't believe I ever did." "Neaera's not one of the criminal classes, you see, sir," Gerald put in. "He taunts me," exclaimed Mr. Blodwell, "with the Old Bailey!" George had come up in time to hear the last two remarks. Neaera saw him, and smiled pleasantly.