"Where _is_ Oliver?" demanded Mrs. Chester, suddenly remembering that he had not come. "Oh! he went into the town to buy cigars, or something of the sort," responded Mr. Lake, as he turned to the garden, glad perhaps to get out of the reach of his sister's anger. That something besides their late arrival had put out Mrs. Chester was self-evident. Across lawns, over flower-beds, behind trees, went Robert Lake, in search of the beauty that to him was as yet a vision--Lydia Clapperton. Good chance--or ill chance, just as the reader may deem--took him to a small summer-house at the end of a shady shrubbery, and in it he discerned a lady sitting; young and pretty, he decided in the semi-light. The lattice was trellised with the green leaves of summer flowers; roses and clematis clustered at the door. He thought, looking at her in the subdued shade, that she must be four or five-and-twenty. Her dress was young--young for daylight. A rich black silk with a low body and short sleeves, edged by a ruche of white crape, a jet chain on her white neck, and jet bracelets. She had very decided aquiline features, thin and compressed lips. Her eyes were such that would have been called beautiful or hideous, according to the taste or fancy of the spectator: they were large, bold, and intensely black. Her hair _was_ beautiful: a smooth purple black, very luxuriant, and disposed in an attractive manner round the head. Mr. Lake took a private view through the interstices of the green stalks across the lattice. "It is Lydia Clapperton," he said to himself; "and a fine girl!" "There she is!" he began aloud, in his free and somewhat saucy manner--a manner that women like, when displayed by an attractive man--as he bared his head to enter the summer-house, and held out his hand with an _abandon_ of all ceremony. That she was surprised into the putting forth her hand in return, was indisputable. She had been intently bending over some fancy-work, netting; and she lifted her head with a start at the greeting, and let fall the work. Mr. Lake took her hand; she looked up at him and saw a gay fascinating man, gentlemanly in the midst of his freedom. Drawing back her hand she sat down again, perfectly self-possessed. "I told Mrs. Chester I should come and look for you," he said, in explanation. "I have the pleasure of knowing your sister, so we need not wait for a formal introduction." "And you?" cried the lady, looking puzzled. "You have heard, no doubt, of Mrs. Chester's brother, the scapegrace. She never gives me too good a word. I am out of her books again, through keeping her and the dinner waiting." It happened that the young lady had never heard of Mr. Lake, as a scapegrace or otherwise. She did not say so, and went on with her netting work. "Mrs. Chester has been wondering at the non-arrival of some friends she was expecting."