Amelia Roper was a tall, well-grown young woman, with dark hair and dark eyes;--not handsome, for her nose was thick, and the lower part of her face was heavy, but yet not without some feminine attractions. Her eyes were bright; but then, also, they were mischievous. She could talk fluently enough; but then, also, she could scold. She could assume sometimes the plumage of a dove; but then again she could occasionally ruffle her feathers like an angry kite. I am quite prepared to acknowledge that John Eames should have kept himself clear of Amelia Roper; but then young men so frequently do those things which they should not do! "After twelve months up here in London one is glad to get away to one's own friends," said Johnny. "Your own friends, Mr. Eames! What sort of friends? Do you suppose I don't know?" "Well, no. I don't think you do know." "L. D.!" said Amelia, showing that Lily had been spoken of among people who should never have been allowed to hear her name. But perhaps, after all, no more than those two initials were known in Burton Crescent. From the tone which was now used in naming them, it was sufficiently manifest that Amelia considered herself to be wronged by their very existence. "L. S. D.," said Johnny, attempting the line of a witty, gay young spendthrift. "That's my love--pounds, shillings, and pence; and a very coy mistress she is." "Nonsense, sir. Don't talk to me in that way. As if I didn't know where your heart was. What right had you to speak to me if you had an L. D. down in the country?" It should be here declared on behalf of poor John Eames that he had not ever spoken to Amelia--he had not spoken to her in any such phrase as her words seemed to imply. But then he had written to her a fatal note of which we will speak further before long, and that perhaps was quite as bad,--or worse. "Ha, ha, ha!" laughed Johnny. But the laugh was assumed, and not assumed with ease. "Yes, sir; it's a laughing matter to you, I dare say. It is very easy for a man to laugh under such circumstances;--that is to say, if he is perfectly heartless,--if he's got a stone inside his bosom instead of flesh and blood. Some men are made of stone, I know, and are troubled with no feelings." "What is it you want me to say? You pretend to know all about it, and it wouldn't be civil in me to contradict you." "What is it I want? You know very well what I want; or rather, I don't want anything. What is it to me? It is nothing to me about L. D. You can go down to Allington and do what you like for me. Only I hate such ways." "What ways, Amelia?"