"You can find amusing types in the West End," remarked Dorothy, in a low voice. "Here is one." The young man who entered the room was a small, attenuated, precise atom of a creature, immaculately dressed and with a rather shrill voice. He answered to the name of the Hon. Walter Vane, and was the cousin of Brendon, although he did not know of the relationship. But Dorothy and Train both knew, and compared Vane's physique disadvantageously with that of Brendon. The one man was a splendid specimen of humanity, the other a peevish hypochondriac. Walter Vane had been "fast" in his time, and although he was not yet thirty he was now suffering from the consequences of his rapid ways. He was in the twenties, yet he was bald. He was as nervous as an old woman and finicky as an elderly spinster. Lord Derrington, who was a bluff old giant of the country squire type, sneered at his degenerate descendant. All the same, he would not replace him by George, who was a man in looks and tastes after the old lord's own heart. "Beastly night," lisped Vane, greeting Dorothy and taking no notice of Leonard. "I think there will be snow. I hope I won't get a bad cold. I am so subject to cold." "Mr. Train--Mr. Vane," said Dorothy, introducing the two. Vane stared and muttered something about "pleasure." Leonard caught no other word. He then continued his conversation with Miss Ward. "I sneezed twice at the Merry Music Hall the other night." "That is where Velez dances," said Leonard, determined to speak. Vane stared again, and it was Dorothy who answered. "My mother went to see her, and says she is a most extraordinary dancer." "Oh, clever in a sort of mad way, and a regular bad one," chuckled the little man. Dorothy turned away. She did not like this conversation, as it offended her taste. But the next words of Vane made her pause. "I saw your friend Brendon at the hall, Miss Ward--the writing man, you know. A fine-looking chap, but sulky." "The best man in the world," said Leonard, whereupon Dorothy gave him an approving look. She wondered what Vane would say did he know that the man he criticised so freely was his cousin and the legitimate heir to the Derrington title if he had his rights. "Well, he has his larks like every one else. They say he is sweet on the dancer." "Mr. Vane!" cried Dorothy, the blood rushing to her face. The little man became confused, conscious that he had transgressed the bounds of good breeding. He knew that Brendon admired Dorothy, and that Dorothy took pleasure in his society, but he was unaware that any deeper feeling existed. Mrs. Ward had kept that sort of thing from him, as she did not want Vane to leave the coast clear for Brendon. And Vane was so egotistical that he never for one moment dreamed that George was his rival. Even if he had, he would have laughed the idea to scorn. In his eyes Brendon was merely a writing fellow and not to be named in the same breath with his noble, attenuated, rickety self.