"No! Then we are mutually astonished. I thought you safe in Italy. Certainly it is on my mind that somebody told me you were there." "I returned home last week." Then, turning to me, he says, hurriedly, "I hope Carrington is well?" "Quite well, thank you. Will you come with me to find him? He would have been the first to welcome you, had he known of your coming, but we did not hope to see you until next week." "I had no idea myself I could have been here so soon. But business, luckily, there was none to detain me, so I came straight on to throw myself on your tender mercies." We have now reached the library door. "Marmaduke," I call out, opening it and entering, "I have brought you Lord Chandos. Now, are you not surprised and pleased?" "Oh! more pleased than I can say," exclaims 'Duke, heartily, coming eagerly forward to greet his friend. "My dear fellow, what good wind blew you to us so soon?" When I return to the drawing-room I find the lamps burning cheerily, and most of our party assembled. Lady Blanche, reclining in a low _fauteuil_, is conversing earnestly with Sir Mark Gore, who stands beside her. Seeing me, she smiles softly at him and motions him to a chair near her. As I move past her trailing skirts a sudden thought of Mons. Rimmel comes to me--the delicatest, faintest perfume reaches me. She runs the fingers of one white hand caressingly across her white arm; her every movement is an essence--a grace. Dora, in her favorite white muslin and sweet demure smile, is holding Mr. Powell and Sir George Ashurst in thrall. She is bestowing the greater part of her attention upon the former, to the disgust and bewilderment of honest George, who looks with moody dislike upon his rival. Both men are intent upon taking her down to dinner. There is little need for you to torture yourself with jealous fears, Sir George. When the time comes it is without doubt upon your arm she will lay that little white pink-tinged hand. Bebe is sitting upon a sofa, with the infatuated Chips beside her, and is no longer pale: two crimson spots adorn her cheeks and add brilliancy to her eyes. As I watch her wonderingly she slowly raises her head, and, meeting my gaze, bestows upon me a glance so full of the liveliest reproach, not unmixed with indignation, that I am filled with consternation, What _have_ I done to deserve so withering a look? "I would give something to know of whom you are thinking just now," says a voice at my elbow. "Not of _me_, I trust?" I turn to find Sir Mark is regarding me earnestly. Instinctively I glance at the vacant chair beside Lady Blanche, and in doing so encounter her dark eyes bent on mine. Verily, I am not in good odor with my guests to-night.