“You have a key, you surely can get in at any hour.” “Yes, but I am afraid--the fact is I am dreadfully tired.” “Oh, just as you like.” Then at the end of an irritating silence, “I am afraid you will have to wait, I do not think I shall be able to get your carriage yet awhile; in a few minutes this crowd will disperse. No use getting crushed to death! What became of Harding and Fletcher? Did they remain long with you?” “No, not very, they went away just before you came. There is Mr. Harding. How did you like the piece, Mr. Harding?” “I always enjoy these pieces, they are so conscientiously illiterate; what I can't bear is unconscientious illiterateness. Nellie Farren has caught something of the jangle of modern life; she has something of the freshness of the music-hall about her that appeals to me very sharply.” “Do you like music-halls? I have always heard they were so vulgar.” “Vulgarity is surely preferable to popularity. The theatre is merely popular.” While Harding was thus exerting himself with epigram, Fletcher stood tall and slender, with a grey overcoat hanging over his arm, and his intense eyes fixed on Lady Seveley. His gaze troubled her, and when he withdrew his eyes she looked at him, anticipant and fearing. He spoke to her until Frank, feeling that he was receding out of all interest and attention, said abruptly, “If you will come now, Lady Seveley, I think I shall be able to get you your carriage. May I see you home?” he said, holding the door. “No thank you, I will not take you out of your way. Go home at once and get rested, and come and see me one of these days; don't forget.” Lady Seveley smiled, but Frank felt that she was annoyed. “I wonder if she wanted me to go home with her. That impertinent brute Fletcher daring to come up to speak to us! I was very nearly telling him to go and fetch the carriage.” He pushed open the swinging doors with violence, nearly upsetting the fat porter. The bar was nearly empty, and he found Lizzie disengaged. “You look very vexed. Has any one been pinching you?” “I am not vexed.” “What will you have to put you straight?” “Well, that is a question. Let me see. I don't care about another brandy and soda, and if I have coffee it may keep me awake.” “Have half milk.” “Very well.” He hesitated, but the inclination to speak soon overpowered him. “I call it bad form, when you are with a lady for another fellow to come up and speak to her.” “Three of Irish, miss.” “Why, didn't he know her?” “Of course he knew her, but that doesn't give him a right to come up and enter into a long conversation when I am with her. I wish I had knocked him down.” “He might have knocked you down.” “A glass of bitter, miss.” “I should have had to take my chance of that. In London people don't seem to me to mind whom they speak to--a low-bred Irishman, who never spoke to a lady until he left his own country.” “Oh! what a rage we are in.”