"What an awfully cross old fellow, old enough to be her father, but with the air of her husband, guarding her like a dragon, and eyeing every fellow that came near as if he'd knock him down; a lean, white-whiskered, bald old fellow, with bushy eyebrows, and a fierce face, and eyes jumping out of his head, and lame of one foot, too. Not a beauty, by any means." "Where did you see _him_?" said Cleve. "I did not see him--but Christmass Owen the boatman told me." "Well, and which is your fate--which is to kill you--the husband or wife?" inquired Cleve, looking vaguely among the crowd. "Oh, the wife, as he calls her, is really quite beautiful, melancholy and that, you know. I'd have found out all about them, but they left before I had time to go back, but Verney was at Cardyllian, when I was there." "When was that?" asked Cleve. "I mean when these people were at Malory. Cleve was much more gone about her than I was--at least so I've heard," answered Sedley. "That's very ungrateful of you, Sedley. I never interfered, upon my honour. I saw her once in church, and accompanied him in his pursuit at his earnest request, and I never saw her again. Are you going on to the Halbury's, Caroline?" "Yes; are you?" "No, quite used up. Haven't slept since Wednesday night." Here a partner came to claim Miss Caroline. "I'll go with you," said Sedley. "Very well," answered Cleve, without looking back. "Come to my lodgings, Sedley--we'll smoke, shall we? I've got some capital cigars." "I don't care. I'm going on also." "What a delicious night!" exclaimed Tom Sedley, looking up at the stars. "Suppose we walk--it isn't far." "I don't care--let us walk," said Cleve. So walk they did. It was not far to Cleve's lodgings, in a street off Piccadilly. The young men had walked rather silently; for, as it seemed to Sedley, his companion was not in a temper to talk a great deal, or very pleasantly. "And what about this gray woman? Did you ever follow it up? Did the romance take fire where it ought? Is it a mutual flame?" asked Cleve, like a tired man who feels he must say something, and does not care what. "I don't think you mentioned her since the day you showed me that Beatrice Cenci, over your d----d chimney-piece." "Of course I'd have told you if there had been anything to tell," said Tom. "They haven't been at Malory since?"