The happy reflections which ensued were appropriate, but hackneyed, being in fact those of a man much in love. It is, however, worth notice that Laura's refusal to think evil had its reward: for if she had suspected George, she would never have shown him her heart in those letters; and, but for those letters, he might have gone to Brighton, and----; whereas what did happen was something quite different. CHAPTER XIX. SOME ONE TO SPEAK TO. Being a public character, although an object of ambition to many, has its disadvantages. Fame is very pleasant, but we do not want everybody in the hotel to point at us when we come down to dinner. When Neaera went to Brighton--for it is surely unnecessary to say that she intended to go and did go thither--she felt that the fame which had been thrust upon her debarred her from hotels, and she took lodgings of a severely respectable type, facing the sea. There she waited two days, spending her time walking and driving where all the world walks and drives. There were no signs of George, and Neaera felt aggrieved. She sent him a line, and waited two days more. Then she felt she was being treated as badly as possible--unkindly, negligently, faithlessly, disrespectfully. He had asked her to come; the invitation was as plain as could be: without a word, she was thrown over! In great indignation she told her maid to pack up, and, meanwhile, sallied out to see if the waves would perform their traditional duty of soothing a wounded spirit. The task was a hard one; for, whatever Neaera Witt had suffered, neglect at the hands of man was a grief fortune had hitherto spared her. She forsook the crowded parade, and strolled down by the water's edge. Presently she sat down under the shade of a boat, and surveyed the waters and the future. She felt very lonely. George had seemed inclined to be pleasant but now he had deserted her. She had no one to speak to. What was the use of being pretty and rich? Everything was very hard and she had done no real harm, and was a very, very miserable girl, and---- Under the shade of the boat, Neaera cried a little, choosing the moment when there were no passers-by. But one who came from behind escaped her vigilance. He saw the gleam of golden hair, and the slim figure, and the little shapely head bowing forward to meet the gloved hands; and he came down the beach, and, standing behind her for a moment, heard a little gurgle of distress. "I beg your pardon," said he. "Can I help?" Neaera looked up with a start. The upright figure, bravely resisting a growing weight of years, the iron-grey hair, the hooked nose, and pleasant keen eyes seemed familiar to her. Surely she had seen him in town! "Why, it's Mrs. Witt!" he said. "We are acquaintances, or we ought to be." And he held out his hand, adding, with a smile, "I am Lord Mapledurham." "Oh!" said Neaera. "Yes," said the Marquis. "Now, I know all about it, and it's a burning shame. And, what's more, it's all my fault."