and has never looked at Tom since." After the laugh which this story raised had ceased, Lord Dollamore said, "Did Tom say anything about his brother Percy the day he dined here?" "O yes," said the man who had first spoken; "they're coming back at once. Mrs. Hammond finds Florence disagrees with her." "Perhaps she'd find Laurence agree with her better," said Dollamore _sotto voce_; then aloud, "Ah! and so of course poor Percy is to be trotted back again. By Jove, how that woman rules him! She has only to whistle, and he comes to her at once. I should like to see a woman try that on me,--a woman that I was married to, I mean.--By the way, you haven't seen Mrs. Hammond since her marriage, have you, Alsager?" "No; I left England just previously." "Ah! she's as pretty as ever, and infinitely more wicked--I beg your pardon, though; I forgot we had turned purist since our Oriental experience." "At all events we have learned one thing in our Oriental experience, Lord Dollamore." "And that is--?" "To keep our temper and--hold our tongue. Goodnight." And as he said these words, Laurence Alsager rose from his seat and left the room; Bertram had previously taken his departure; so that Laurence walked off alone to his hotel, pondering on all he had seen and heard. "So she's coming back," he said to himself as he strolled along; "coming back to bring back to me, whenever I may happen to meet her, all the sickening recollections of the old times, the heart-burnings, the heart-breaking, to escape from which I rushed away two years ago. She won the day then, and she'll be as insolent as she can be on the strength of her victory now, though she knows well enough that I did not shoot my best bolt then, but keep it in my quiver yet. It's impossible to fight with a woman; they can descend to so many dodges and meannesses where no man worthy of the name could follow them. No; I'll seek safety in flight. I'll be off again as soon as I've seen the governor; and then--And yet what a strange interest I seem to take in that girl I saw to-night! Poor little child! I wonder if Dollamore's right about her husband. Well, I'll wait a few days, and see what turns up." While these thoughts were passing through Laurence Alsager's mind, Sir Charles Mitford was leaning against the jambs of the door leading from his dressing-room into his wife's bed-room. He had one boot off, and was vainly endeavouring to discover the hole in the bootjack in which to insert the other foot. The noise which he made in this operation awoke Lady Mitford, who called out, "Oh, Charley, is that you?" "Course, my dear," said Sir Charles in a thick voice; "who should it be this time o' night? not that it's late, though," he said, correcting himself after a moment's reflection; then looking vacantly at her, added in a high-falsetto key, "quite early." "You are not ill, Charley?" she asked, looking anxiously at him.