"Upon my word!" cried the young woman, in that dubious manner which might have meant disgust, or which might be taken as encouragement. Mr. Curtis, strong in his self-conceit, adopted the latter view, and became more pressing in his attentions. "Now do let me see you again, there's a dear," he exclaimed, continuing to walk by her side. "If you'll only agree to meet me this evening, I'll take you to the play—and I'll buy you a gold chain. Money is no object to me, my love: a man with ten thousand a-year—_and_ a peerage in the perspective—may indulge his little fancies, I hope." These falsehoods, conveyed by implication, were uttered in such a tone of assurance, that the young woman was evidently dazzled by their splendour; and she threw a rapid, but encouraging glance towards the mendacious Frank. "Come, now—will you meet me again?" he demanded. "I _was_ going over to stay a few days with the Prime Minister of France early next month; and I _had_ promised to pass my Christmas with his Holiness the Pope at Rome:—but if you was only kind, now—why, there's no saying that I might not send excuses to both of them, and stay in London for the pleasure of seeing you." "But you men are such gay deceivers," said the young female. "Well—we may be—sometimes!" ejaculated Frank, rather looking upon the imputation as a compliment than a reproach. "But you're too pretty for a man to find it in his heart to deceive you, my dear. In one word, where shall you be at seven o'clock this evening?" "I _did_ think of calling upon a friend which is lady's-maid in a family living in Conduit Street," replied the young woman. "And if your friend is a lady's-maid, my dear," said Frank, "what may you be?" "The same, sir," was the answer. "The very thing!" cried Curtis. "If there's one class of young ladies that I like more than another, it is the ladies'-maids. Why, my dear, when I left Paris—where I stayed some time with the Archbishop of that city,—for his Grace and I are as thick as two thieves—the ladies'-maids held a meeting, and appointed a committee to draw up an address expressive of regret and all that sort of thing at my going away. They did, upon my honour! But let us come to the point, my dear. Shall you be in Conduit Street this evening at about seven?" "I think it's very likely, sir," was the answer. "But you must not go with me any farther now—for I live at the house with the bay-windows there." "But whose service are you in, my dear?" asked Frank. "In Lady Georgiana Hatfield's," replied the young woman. "Indeed!" cried Curtis. "I've heard an uncle of mine speak of her ladyship, I think. But this is a great nuisance, though." "What is?" asked Charlotte, whom our readers may remember to have been mentioned at the opening of this tale. "Why—that you and me must separate just at the moment that we are getting so friendly together—and without a single kiss, either." Charlotte giggled—but said nothing.