“Let me assure you, my Lady, that to the latter quality I attach no importance whatever. Persons who respect themselves never visit peculiarities of temperament on others. We have our infirmities of nature, as we have our maladies; but we keep them for ourselves, or for our doctor. It is the triumph of the well-bred world to need nothing but good manners.” “What charming people! I take it that heaven must be peopled with lords-in-waiting.” “Let me observe to your Ladyship that there is no greater enormity in manners than an epigram. Keep this smartness for correspondence exclusively, abstain from it strictly in conversation.” “I protest, my Lord, your lessons come so thick that I despair of being able to profit by half of them. Meanwhile, if I am not committing another solecism against good manners, I should like to say good-night.” Lord Culduff arose and walked to the door, to be ready to open it as she approached. Meanwhile, she busied herself collecting her fan and her scent-bottle and her handkerchief, and a book she had been reading. “Hadn't Virginie better come for these things?” said he, quietly. “Oh, certainly,” replied she, dropping them hurriedly on the table; “I'm always transgressing; but I do hope, my Lord, with time, and with that sincere desire to learn that animates me, I may yet attain to at least so many of the habits of your Lordship's order as may enable me to escape censure.” He smiled and bowed a courteous concurrence with the wish, but did not speak. Though her lip now trembled with indignation, and her cheek was flushed, she controlled her temper, and as she drew nigh the door dropped a low and most respectful courtesy. “Very nice, very nice, indeed; a thought, perhaps, too formal--I mean for the occasion--but in admirable taste. Your Ladyship is grace itself.” “My Lord, you are a model of courtesy.” “I cannot even attempt to convey what pleasure your words give me,” said he, pressing his hand to his heart and bowing low. Meanwhile, with a darkening brow and a look of haughty defiance, she swept past him and left the room. “Is n't Marion well?” said Temple Bramleigh, as he entered a few minutes later; “her maid told me she had gone to her room.” “Quite well: a little fagged, perhaps, by a day of visiting; nothing beyond that. You have been dining at the embassy? whom had you there?” “A family party and a few of the smaller diplomacies.” “To be sure. It was Friday. Any news stirring?” “Nothing whatever.” “Does Bartleton talk of retiring still?”' “Yes. He says he is sick of sending in his demand for retirement. That they always say, 'We can't spare you; you must hold on a little longer. If you go out now, there's Bailey and Hammersmith, and half a dozen others will come insisting on advancement.'” “Did n't he say Culduff too? eh, didn't he?” said the old lord, with a wicked twinkle of the eye. “I'm not sure he didn't,” said Temple, blushing.