Some thoughts of this kind were in Lord Carlyon’s head as he threw on his opera-coat and prepared to leave the scene of revelry at the Dexters. The pale, noble face of Delicia haunted him; the disdain of her clear eyes still rankled in his soul; and he was actually indignant with her for what he considered ‘that offensive virtue of hers,’ which shamed him, and which had, for a moment at least, made ‘the most distinguished Lady Brancewith’ seem nothing but a common drab, daubed with paint and powder. Even as he thought of her thus, the fair and faithless Lily approached him, smiling, with a coaxing and penitent air. ‘Still huffy?’ she inquired sweetly. ‘Poor, dear thing! Did it fret and fume and turn nasty?’ She laughed, then added, ‘Don’t be cross, Billy! I was very rude to you just now—I’m sorry! See!’ and she folded her hands with an appealing air. ‘Drive home with me, will you? I’m so lonely! Brancewith’s at Newmarket.’ Carlyon hesitated, looking at her. She was undoubtedly very lovely, despite her artificial flesh tints and distinctly dyed hair. ‘All right!’ he said with a stand-offish manner of coldness and indifference, ‘I don’t mind seeing you home.’ ‘How sweet and condescending of you!’ and Lady Brancewith threw on her mantle gleaming with iridescent jewels and showered with perfumed lace. ‘So good of you to bore yourself with my company!’ Her eyes flashed; she was in a dangerous mood, and Carlyon saw it. In silence he piloted her through the ranks of attendant flunkeys, and when her carriage came bowling up to the door assisted her into it. ‘Good-night!’ he then said, raising his hat ceremoniously. Lily Brancewith turned white with sudden passion. ‘Aren’t you coming in?’ she asked. He smiled, thoroughly enjoying the position. ‘No, I have changed my mind. I am going home—to my wife!’ Lady Brancewith trembled, but quickly controlled herself. ‘So right of you,’ she said, smiling. ‘So proper!’ Then, putting out her hand, she caught him by the coat-sleeve. ‘Do you know what I wish for you?’ she said slowly. ‘Can’t imagine!’ he responded carelessly. ‘Something nasty, no doubt.’ ‘Yes, it is something nasty!’ She laughed under her breath as she spoke. ‘Something nasty, yet very commonplace, too. I wish your wife may discover the kind of man you are,—and _stop your allowances_! Good-night! She smiled brilliantly; the horses started suddenly and he drew back, smothering an angry oath. Another moment and the carriage had rolled away, leaving him alone staring at the pavement. He stood for a little lost in gloomy meditation; then, summoning a hansom, was driven home at a brisk pace, having made up his mind to ‘face it out,’ as he inwardly said, with Delicia.