"That is right. He"--nodding towards Lord Deseret--"is not a good example for young men in that respect." "He has been very kind to me. And he warns me strongly against it." "All the same he does not set a good example. Will you come and see me?" "I would be delighted if I may." "Come and breakfast with me to-morrow at twelve. I shall be alone." She gave him an address in South Audley Street, and then dismissed them all with, "Now you must go. Here is my dresser, and I have but ten minutes more." And they made their adieux and bowed themselves out. "Is Madame English?" asked Denham, as they seated themselves in the box again. "Originally, I think so. But she has lived much abroad and has become to some extent cosmopolitan. She certainly is not Spanish, or if she is she has most unaccountably forgotten her native tongue," said Lord Deseret, with his hovering smile. "She dances in Spanish, anyway," said Charlie exuberantly. "And that is all that concerns us at the moment." CHAPTER XXXIII A STIRRING OF MUD It is an old saying, founded on very correct observation, that long-continued calm breaks up in storm. And the same holds good of life, individual and national. Too long a calm leads at times to somewhat of deterioration--at all events to a laxing of the fibres and an indolent reliance on the continuance of things as they are; and that, in a world whose essence is growth and change, is not without its dangers. And--proverbially again--a storm always clears the air. It seemed to Jim Carron that, of a sudden, the accumulated storms of all the long quiet years burst upon him. He had intended seeing Lord Deseret at the first possible moment and questioning him as to that very curious remark of his. But he could not broach such a matter at the theatre and in company, and his lordship had driven off to some other appointment the moment the curtain fell. So, at twelve next day, having scrambled through his morning's duties with a quite unusually preoccupied mind, he presented himself at Mme Beteta's lodgings and was taken upstairs to her apartments. She welcomed him graciously, and they sat down at once to the table. He thought she looked decidedly older in the daylight, but it was only in the texture of her face, devoid now of any artificial assistance, and slightly lined in places. The two great plaits of black hair showed no silver threads. The luminous black eyes were still bright. The sinewy form the dancer was full of exquisite grace. "Now tell me about yourself," demanded madame, as they sipped their final coffee, and the maid retired. "I don't think there's anything to tell," said Jim, with his open boyish smile. "We have lived all our lives at Carne--Jack and I--until we went to Harrow, and then he went to Woolwich and I came to London." "Jack is your brother?"