She stopped, with eyes sparkling and cheeks flushed; by the way, I did not before remark, for I only now discovered, that she was lovely--"wholly worldly"--what sacrilege! say rather "barely mortal;" and I forthwith instituted a new category. My own ideas, thought I, expressed in feminine language; she is converted already, and stands in no need of a missionary. Grandon himself could not take higher ground; as I thought of him I looked up, and found his eyes fixed upon us. "My friend Grandon would sympathise most cordially in your sentiments," I said, generously; for I had fallen a victim in preparing the ground; I had myself tumbled into the pit which I had dug for her; for had I not endeavoured to entrap her by expressing the most unworthy opinions, in the hope that by assenting to them she would have furnished me with a text to preach upon? "Yes," she replied, in a low tone, and with a slight tremor in her voice, "I know what Lord Grandon's views are, for he was staying with us at Broadhem a few weeks ago, and I heard him upon several occasions discussing the subject with my brother." "Failed to convert him, though, it would appear," said I, thinking what a delightful field for missionary operations Broadhem House would be. "Perhaps I should be more successful. Grandon wants tact. Young men sometimes require very delicate handling." "So do young women," said Lady Ursula, laughing. "Will you please look under the table for my fan?" and away sailed the ladies, leaving me rather red from having got under the table, and very much in love indeed. I was roused from the reverie into which I instantly fell by Dickiefield telling me to pass the wine, and asking me if I knew my next neighbour. I looked round and saw a young man with long flaxen hair, blue eyes, and an unhealthy complexion, dexterously impaling pieces of apple upon his knife, and conveying them with it to his mouth. "Mr Wog," said Dickiefield, "let me introduce you to Lord Frank Vanecourt." "Who did you say, sir?" said Mr Wog, in a strong American accent, without taking the slightest notice of me. "Lord Frank Vanecourt," said Dickiefield. "Lord Frank Vanecourt, sir, how do you do, sir?--proud to make your acquaintance, sir," said Mr Wog. "The same to you, sir," said I. "Pray, where were you raised?" I wanted to show Mr Wog that I was not such a barbarian as he might imagine, and knew how to ask a civil question or two. "Well, sir, I'm a Missouri man," he replied. "I was a captain under Frank Blair, till I was taken bad with chills and fever; then I gave up the chills and kept the fever--'oil-fever' they call it down to Pithole--you've heard of Pithole?" "Yes," I said, I had heard of that magical city.