Mary perceived, in effect, in the distance a female figure coming towards them over a stretch of lawn, and she simultaneously saw, as a gentleman passed from behind a clump of shrubbery, that it was not unattended. She recognized Charlotte Firminger, and she also distinguished the gentleman. She was moved to larger mirth at the dismay expressed by poor Firminger, but she was able to articulate: "Walking with Mr. Brown." Lord Beaupré stopped again before they were joined by the pair. "Does _he_ buzz about you?" "Mercy, what questions you ask!" his companion exclaimed. "Does he--_please_?" the young man repeated with odd intensity. Mary looked at him an instant; she was puzzled by the deep annoyance that had flushed through the essential good-humour of his face. Then she saw that this annoyance had exclusive reference to poor Charlotte; so that it left her free to reply, with another laugh: "Well, yes--he does. But you know I like it!" "I don't, then!" Before she could have asked him, even had she wished to, in what manner such a circumstance concerned him, he added with his droll agitation: "I never invited _her_, either! Don't let her get at me!" "What can I do?" Mary demanded as the others advanced. "Please take her away; keep her yourself! I'll take the American, I'll keep _him_," he murmured, inconsequently, as a bribe. "But I don't object to him." "Do you like him so much?" "Very much indeed," the girl replied. The reply was perhaps lost upon her interlocutor, whose eye now fixed itself gloomily on the dauntless Charlotte. As Miss Firminger came nearer he exclaimed almost loud enough for her to hear: "I think I shall _murder_ her some day!"