"Very likely. But there is not one of them so clever as Sir Nugent. You see, I had set my heart on our doing a comedy of Scribe's. There is such a rage for private theatricals just now, and I knew that the only chance of our distinguishing ourselves was by doing something French. The whole county will be pervaded by _The Lady of Lyons_ and _Still Waters Run Deep_; but a comedy by Scribe in the original will be a little out of the common. I know that Sir Nugent's accent is irreproachable, and he is the only man I can trust with the character of the Marquis." "Is the Marquis a very important character?" "Yes, he is the leading personage in the piece. Every thing depends upon him." "Is Mr. Lobyer to take any part in your comedy?" "Oh no. He calls all that kind of thing nonsense. There are quite enough people in the world ready to make fools of themselves without his assistance, he says. Polite, is it not? But Mr. Lobyer's mind is given up to the money-market. I think he has made a new commandment for himself; 'Thou shalt love the Royal Exchange with all thy mind, and soul, and----'" "Flo!" "Oh, of course it's very wicked of me to say that; but sometimes I feel as if the money-market were too much for my brain. It is so dreadful to have a husband whose temper is dependent on the state of trade, and who is sometimes sulky for a whole day because grey shirtings have been dull. However, I suppose, on the other hand, it is a blessing to have a husband who sometimes makes four or five thousand pounds by a single stroke of business. I scarcely wonder that such men as Mr. Lobyer look down upon art, for art is really a paltry business compared to trade, in these days, when every thing is estimated by its money value. Papa is supposed to be at the top of the tree; but he gives a year's labour and thought to a picture for which he gets less than Mr. Lobyer can earn in a day, by some lucky transaction with America. Oh, Cecil, how I detest trade, and all that appertains to it!" This was not a very promising remark from the wife of a wealthy trader, and it was a remark which Cecil thought it safer to leave unnoticed. Flo's spirits seemed to have left her for the moment under the influence of the money-market. She gave a prolonged yawn, which was half a sigh, and then bade her friend good-night. Cecil sat by the fire for some time that night, thinking rather sadly of the brilliant Mrs. Lobyer's fate. For the present it seemed bright and fair enough, but what of the years to come? Very gloomy forebodings filled Cecil's mind as she thought of the unknown future which lay before the careless footsteps of that frivolous young matron. CHAPTER XXII. MRS. LOBYER'S SKELETON.