The barrister, who had found so little to say to Lady Cecil, recovered the natural flow of his eloquence in the society of the dowager, and made himself eminently agreeable to that lady. He took her quite off the hands of her host, and contrived to find her a corner on a sofa near the piano, where some ladies of the wallflower species were primly seated. He talked with more animation than was pleasant to the German bass during that gentleman's great song; but Mrs. MacClaverhouse was one of those people who make a point of chattering throughout the progress of a musical performance, and praising it loudly when it is concluded. She was delighted with the Irish barrister, and from her he obtained all the information he wanted about Lady Cecil Chudleigh. Perhaps the wily dowager perceived that this uncivilised Hercules of the law courts was smitten by her niece's tranquil beauty, and knew that he was rich, and speculated upon the possibility of his being able to support that corner house in Hyde Park Gardens, for whose lofty chambers her spirit languished. However it might be, she was monstrously civil to the great O'Boyneville; and before her niece came to seek her she had invited him to dine in Dorset Square at an early date, to meet a distinguished luminary of the Sudder Dewanee. Cecil did not condescend to honour the Irishman by one glance as she talked to her aunt. "Shall we go now, auntie? The rooms are very warm, and I am sure you must be tired." "I suppose that means that _you_ are tired," answered Mrs. MacClaverhouse. "However, I'm quite ready to take my departure." "Shall I go and look for your carriage?" asked Mr O'Boyneville. "No, thanks," Cecil replied, very coldly. "Captain Norris has been kind enough to go in search of it. He will not fetch us till it is really at the door, auntie." "I hope not," said Mrs. MacClaverhouse. "But I sometimes fancy Dr. Molyneux sows the seeds of his winter bronchitis cases while his visitors are waiting for their carriages in that windy vestibule of his. Perhaps you will be good enough to get me through the middle passage, Mr. O'Boyneville, while Captain Norris looks after my niece." Captain Norris, the irreproachable gentleman who had walked the solemn measures of a quadrille with Cecil, arrived at this moment, flushed, but triumphant. "The carriage is there, Mrs. MacClaverhouse. May I offer you my arm?" But the dowager slipped her hand over Mr. O'Boyneville's sleeve, and the Captain took possession of Cecil. There were a good many pauses on the way, pleasant salutations, and friendly greetings; but in due time the ladies were safely installed in their chariot; and looking out into the summer night, Cecil was obliged to bow to Mr. O'Boyneville, who stood bare-headed upon the pavement. "What a horrible man, auntie!" she exclaimed, with something like a shudder; "and how could you be so friendly with him?"