"No," he said, his eyes fixed on her face. "I meant to, but you said that you would come out directly, and so I waited. Are you ready? It doesn't matter--I'll wait. I suppose it's the pudding, or the custards, or the canary wants feeding. I wish there were no puddings or canaries." "What an impatient boy it is," she exclaimed, with a laugh. "Well, now I'm ready." "Let's go down to the river," he said. "There's someone fishing there--at least, he's supposed to be fishing, but he keeps his eyes fixed in this direction, so that I don't imagine he is getting much sport." "What is he like?" said Stella. "Like?" said Frank. "Oh, a tall, well-made young fellow, in brown velvet. A man with a yellow mustache." Stella's face flushed, and she glanced round at her uncle. "Let us go," she said. "I know who it is. It is Lord Leycester." "Not Lord Leycester Wyndward," exclaimed Frank. "Not really! I should like to see him. Do you know him, Stella?" "Yes--a little," said Stella, shyly. "A little." "Yes, it is Lord Leycester," said Stella, and the color came to her face. "I have heard so much about Lord Leycester," said Frank, eagerly; "everybody knows him in London. He is an awful swell, isn't he?" Stella smiled. "You will teach me the most dreadful slang, Frank," she said. "Is he such a 'swell,' as you call him?" "Oh, awful; there isn't anything that he doesn't do. He drives a coach and four, and he's the owner of two of the best race horses in England, and he's got a yacht--the 'Gipsy,' you know--and, oh, there's no end to his swelldom. And you know him?" "Yes," said Stella, and her heart smote her, that she could not say: "I know him so well that I am engaged to be married to him." But she could not; she had promised, and must keep her promise. Frank could not get over his wonder and admiration. "Why, he's one of the most popular men in London," he said. "Let me see! there's something else I heard about him. Oh, yes, he is going to be married." "Is he?" said Stella, and a little smile came about her lips. Frank nodded. "To a swell as great as himself. To Lady Lenore Beauchamp." The smile died away from Stella's lips, and her face paled. It was false and ridiculous, but the mere rumor struck her, not with a dagger's but a pin's point. "Is he?" she said, feeling deceitful and guilty, and she walked on in silence to the river's bank, while Frank ran on telling all he knew of Lord Leycester's swelldom. According to Frank he was a very great swell indeed, a sort of prince amongst men, and as Stella listened her heart went out to the boy in gratitude. And she was to marry this great man! They reached the river's bank, and Lord Leycester, who had been watching them, put down his rod and came across. Stella held out her hand, her face crimson with a warm blush, her eyes downcast. "How do you do, Stel--Miss Etheridge?" he said, pressing her hand; then he glanced at Frank. "This is my cousin, Frank," said Stella. "Frank Etheridge."