He smiled down upon her, not hearing what she said, but admiring her dress, its little complication and subtleties, the violets that perfumed every movement, the slim fingers holding the fan. Her mere ways of personal adornment were to him like pleasant talk. They surprised and amused him--stood between him and ennui. She repeated her question. A frown crossed his brow, and the face changed wholly. "Ah!--it is so difficult to see one's way," he said, with a little sigh of annoyance. Letty played with her fan, and was silent. "Do you so much prefer it to the others?" he asked her. Letty looked up with astonishment. "Why, it is a house!" she said, lifting her eyebrows; "and the others--" "Hovels? Well, you are about right. The small London house is an abomination. Perhaps I can make them take less premium." Letty shook her head. "It is not at all a dear house," she said decidedly. He still frowned, with the look of one recalled to an annoyance he had shaken off. "Well, darling, if you wish it so much, that settles it. Promise to be still nice to me when we go through the Bankruptcy Court!" "We will let lodgings, and I will do the waiting," said Letty, just laying her hand lightly against his for an instant. "Just think! That house would draw like anything. Of course, we will only take the eldest sons of peers. By the way, do you see Lord Fontenoy?" They were in the middle of the "interval," and almost everyone about them, including Miss Tulloch, was standing up, talking or examining their neighbours. George craned his neck round Miss Tulloch, and saw Fontenoy sitting beside a lady, on the other side of the middle gangway. "Who is the lady?" Letty inquired. "I saw her with him the other night at the Foreign Office." George smiled. "_That_--if you want to know--is Fontenoy's story!" "Oh, but tell me at once!" said Letty, imperiously. "But he hasn't got a story, or a heart. He's only stuffed with blue-book." "So I thought till a few weeks ago. But I know a good deal more now about Master Fontenoy than I did." "But who is she?" "She is a Mrs. Allison. Isn't that white hair beautiful? And her face--half saint, I always think--you might take her for a mother-abbess--and half princess. Did you ever see such diamonds?" George pulled his moustaches, and grinned as he looked across at Fontenoy. "Tell me quick!" said Letty, tapping him on the arm--"Is she a widow?--and is he going to marry her? Why didn't you tell me before?--why didn't you tell me at Malford?" "Because I didn't know," said George, laughing. "Oh! it's a strange story--too long to tell now. She is a widow, but he is not going to marry her, apparently. She has a grown-up son, who hasn't yet found himself a wife, and thinks it isn't fair to him. If Fontenoy wants to introduce her, don't refuse. She is the mistress of Castle Luton, and has delightful parties. Yes!--if I'd known at Malford what I know now!"