"Mitford--and all that. You'll give me no peace till I tell you. You recollect Mitford? with us at Oxford--Brasenose man, not Christ Church." "Mitford, Mitford! Oh, I recollect; big, fair man, goodish-looking. His father failed and smashed up; didn't he? and our man went into a line regiment. Oh, by Jove, yes! and came to grief about mistaking somebody else's name for his own, and backing a bill with it; didn't he? at Canterbury, or somewhere where he was quartered?" "Same man. Had to leave service, and came to awful grief. Ran away, and nothing heard of him. His uncle, Sir Percy, and two little boys drowned off Malta, and title came to our man. Couldn't find him anywhere; at last some Jew lawyer was employed, put detectives on, and hunted up Mitford, nearly starved, in some public in Wapping, or somewhere in the East-end. When he heard what a swell he'd become, he had a fit, and they thought he'd die. But he's been all square ever since; acted like a gentleman; went down to the place in Devonshire where his people lived before the smash; married the clergyman's daughter to whom he had been engaged in the old days; and they've just come up to town for the winter." "Married the clergyman's daughter to whom he had been engaged in the old days, eh? George Bertram, I saw a blush mantle on your ingenuous cheek, sir, when you alluded to the lady. What is she like?" "Stuff, Laurence! you did nothing of the kind. Lady Mitford is a very delightful woman." "_Caramba_, Master George! If I were Sir Mitford, and heard you speak of my lady in that earnest manner, I should keep a sharp eye upon you. So you've not improved in that respect." George Bertram, whose _amourettes_ were of the most innocent description, but to accuse whom of the wildest profligacy was a favourite joke with his friends, deeper than ever, and only uttered an indignant "Too bad, too bad!" "Come along, sir," said Laurence: "I'll sit in the silent solitude of the stalls while you are basking in beauty in a box." "But you'll come up and be introduced, Laurence?" "Not I. thank you; I'll leave the field clear for you." "But Sir Charles Mitford would be so glad to renew his old acquaintance with you." "Would he? Then Sir Charles Mitford must reserve that delight for another occasion. I shall be here after the play, and we can have a further talk if you can descend to mundane matters after your felicity. Now come along." And they strolled out together. CHAPTER III. AT THE PARTHENIUM.