"Deuced good legs!" subjoins a third, remarkable for his laconism; taking his pipe out of his mouth to make room for his criticism, and fixing upon that part of a woman's charms which is always the first to enchain the masculine attention. "She is vewy like a girl I used to know at the Cape," says a "Heavy," who has been vanquished in single combat by the letter R. "The _Fly_ we used to call her, because when she settled on a f'la, it was mowally impossible to dwive her off." St. John, who has been listening with ill-concealed anger and disgust to these comments--free as if they had been upon the points of a horse--on the charms of the woman for whom he has been trying to persuade himself that he feels inveterate aversion, turns to move away; but Linley's voice recalls him. "I say, Gerard!--Gerard!" "Well?" "Do you know her?" "Slightly." "Introduce me, then--there's a good fellow!" "And me!" "And me!" "My acquaintance with Miss Craven is not such as to justify my introducing any one to her," answers Gerard, stiffly, and so walks resolutely off. "Sly dog!" cries Linley, laughing; "means to keep her all to himself--a nice quiet little game of his own." "Means to drive a pair then--eh?" asks the laconic youth. "Vewy seldom pays," says the "Heavy," sagely; "one or other invawiably jibs." But Mr. Linley, being more in earnest than he usually is about most things, is not so easily balked. After many fruitless inquiries among the company, he at length appeals to Miss Blessington. "Do you know, Miss Blessington," he says, peering up at her with his quick terrier-face (for her stately height exceeds his), "I have actually been putting the same question to twenty people running, and never yet succeeded in getting an answer? You are my last hope: who _is_ that lady in black?" "The lady in black!" repeats Constance, amiably--following, as her lover had done, the direction of his gaze. "Oh!" (with a little, slighting laugh), "nobody very particular; only poor Miss Craven, my aunt's companion!" "Poor girl!" he says--his eyes still riveted upon the pensive oval face, and his interest in her not the least lessened by the information as to her social status, that Constance had thought so damning. He does not want to _marry_ her; and for any other purpose a pretty woman is a pretty woman, be she duchess or fishwife. "It must be very slow for her, mustn't it? I always hate looking on--don't you? I always like to have a hand in everything, whatever it may be; it would really be a charity to go and speak to her, only I'm afraid she would take it as an insult if I went up and introduced myself." "I assure you she is quite happy watching us," replies Constance, sweetly; being, for the most part, not fond of going shares with a sister fair one in any of the proper men and tall that are wont to gather about her.