"Why, that's the name of the Aspendell family; and you belong to that family, I suppose, Miss Chudleigh?" "Yes; the late Lord Aspendell was my father." "Indeed! Ah! I met the Earl once, ten years ago; and that unfortunate young man who ran through so much money, and was killed in the Alps?" "He was my brother," murmured Cecil, rising as if she would have made her escape from this uncivilised monster. "I beg your pardon a thousand times. Yes, to be sure, I ought to have remembered that. Your brother, of course; and I suppose he really _did_ contrive to make away with every acre of the Aspendell property, eh?" Lady Cecil looked indignantly at her questioner, and the stairs immediately below her being a little clearer just now, she moved downwards and made her way towards her aunt. The barrister looked after her with a bewildered aspect. "I suppose she didn't like my talking to her about her brother," he thought. "He was a thorough young scamp, if ever there was one. And the present Lord Aspendell must be as poor as Job. And this girl's his niece, I suppose, or his cousin. Poor and proud--that's a pity! and she's a nice girl too." He looked after her; she was entering the dancing-room on the arm of an irreproachable cavalier. Mr. O'Boyneville watched her till she disappeared, and then tried to take up the thread of his meditations upon the slate case at the exact point at which he had dropped it. But for once in his life he found his thoughts wandering away from the contemplation of his professional duties. The image of the patrician face on which he had so lately been looking haunted him as no such image had ever haunted him before. "I am sorry I offended her," he thought, "for she really seems a nice girl." The doctor came out upon the landing in animated conversation with one of his guests at this very moment, and perceiving Mrs. MacClaverhouse in the shadow of the window-curtains, stopped to give her cordial greeting. "I have seen Lady Cecil, and she told me where to look for you," said the physician. "Won't you come into the rooms? We're a little crowded, but I'll find you a comfortable seat; and Herr Kerskratten, the German bass, is going to sing his great drinking-song." But before Dr. Molyneux could steer the dowager through the crowd about the doorway, Mr. O'Boyneville had pushed his way to the elbow of his physician, whom he saluted in that sonorous voice which was one of the most useful gifts a liberal nature had bestowed upon him. After a briefly cordial greeting, the Irishman bent his head to whisper in the ear of his friend: "Introduce me to the old lady." Dr. Molyneux looked at him in some astonishment as he complied. "I know you are a hunter of lions, Mrs. MacClaverhouse," he said, "so I don't think it would be fair if I didn't introduce you to a gentleman whose name must be tolerably familiar to you in the law reports that enliven your morning papers. Mr O'Boyneville--Mrs. MacClaverhouse."