of her pretty appearance and gentle manners, without having the slightest idea that she and the Lady Forestfield, of whose atrocious behaviour they had read in the penny weekly journal which had found its way into some of their homesteads, were identical. When he had seen her safely off, and felt that with her departure London had no farther attraction for him, Nugent Uffington thought it was time for him to make a start. He knew that in his early days Lord Forestfield had been a great yachting man; and thought, though he no longer owned a vessel, he might probably be sailing with some acquaintance, yachtsmen of the present day being peculiarly susceptible to the charms of titled friends, and being willing to condone any amount of bad conduct in a member of the peerage; so he first visited the Isle of Wight, where he found Ryde and Cowes presenting a very different appearance from that familiar to them at regatta time, being now given up to stout women in alpaca gowns and flapping straw hats; their husbands, in serge suits and canvas shoes out of the slop-sellers' shops; and brown-faced batheable children. Lord Forestfield was not there. 'Hadn't been there that season,' said old Mr. Woolsey, whom Uffington found at his usual post in the club, giving at the same time a very knowing wink, as much as to convey that he for one had not been sorry at the noble lord's absence. 'I don't think,' added Mr. Woolsey, 'that he is out sailing at all this year. People have fought rather shy of Master Forestfield since all that business about his wife; but if he is sailing with anybody, it will probably be with Spokeshave; and a nice pair they will make, for Spokeshave is about as unpopular as Forestfield himself, though from a very different cause. I heard of him in the west, and I shouldn't be surprised if you picked him up somewhere round Torquay way.' It was no matter to Nugent Uffington where he went, and, as he was told that Torquay was pretty and the Imperial Hotel comfortable, he started off there at once. But they knew nothing of Lord Forestfield at the Imperial, for at the cozy little club overlooking the harbour; and after a stay of two or three days, during which he had enjoyed the severest idleness, Nugent was consulting Bradshaw with the view of ascertaining to what place he should next bend his steps, when he felt a slap on the shoulder, and looking up, saw Tom Lydyeard's grizzled beard and bronzed face bending over him. 'I thought I was not mistaken, though I could not see your face,' said Tom, in his great cheery voice. 'What on earth brings you to this place? You haven't got a yacht here, have you? you are not a flower-show frequenter, or an archery-fête supporter, or anything of that kind; and you don't take any interest in the fine new harbour which Sir Lawrence has built for these Torquay folk? Then what brings you here?'