"'That friend," replied Lady Roseville, with a faltering voice and a glowing cheek, "was Sir Reginald Glanville." "What!" cried I, "repeat the name to me again, or--" I paused, and recovered myself. "Sir Reginald Glanville," I resumed haughtily, "is too gracious to enter into my affairs. I must be strangely altered if I need the officious zeal of any intermeddler to redress my wrongs." "Nay, Mr. Pelham," said the countess, hastily, "you do Glanville--you do yourself injustice. For him, there never passes a day in which he does not mention you with the highest encomiums and the most affectionate regard. He says, of late, that you have altered towards him, but that he does not blame you--he never mentions the cause; if I am not intruding, suffer me to inquire into it; perhaps (oh! how happy it would make me) I may be able to reconcile you; if you knew--if you could but guess half of the noble and lofty character of Reginald Glanville, you would suffer no petty difference to divide you." "It is no petty difference," said I, rising, "nor am I permitted to mention the cause. Meanwhile, may God bless you, dearest Lady Roseville, and preserve that kind and generous heart from worse pangs than those of disappointed ambition, or betrayed trust." Lady Roseville looked down--her bosom heaved violently; she felt the meaning of my words. I left her and St. J--'s Square. I returned home to court sleep as vainly as the monarch in the tragedy, and exclaim as idly as the peasant in the farce, "Oh! that there were no House of Commons in the world!" CHAPTER LXXII. Good Mr. Knave, give me my due, I like a tart as well as you; But I would starve on good roast beef, Ere I would look so like a thief. --The Queen of Hearts. Nune vino pellite curas; Cras ingens iterabimus aequor. Horace.