“Well, then, my dear Von Konigstein, I will come.” “Well, that is yourself again. It made me quite unhappy to see you look so sour and melancholy; one would have thought that I was some bore, Salvinski at least, by the way you spoke to me. Well, mind you come; it is a promise, good. I must go and say just one word to the lovely little Saxon girl; by-the-bye, Grey, one word before I am off. List to a friend; you are on the wrong scent about Miss Fane; St. George, I think, has no chance there, and now no wish to succeed. The game is your own, if you like; trust my word, she is an angel. The good powers prosper you!” So saying, the Baron glided off. Mr. St. George had danced With Miss Fane the only quadrille in which Lady Madeleine allowed her to join. He was now waltzing with Aurelia Fitzloom, and was at the head of a band of adventurous votaries of Terpsichore; who, wearied with the commonplace convenience of a saloon, had ventured to invoke the Muse on the lawn. “A most interesting sight, Lady Madeleine!” said Mr. Fitzloom, as he offered her his arm, and advised their instant presence as patrons of the “Fête du Village,” for such Baron von Konigstein had most happily termed it. “A delightful man, that Baron von Konigstein, and says such delightful things! Fête du Village! how very good!” “That is Miss Fitzloom, then, whom my brother is waltzing with?” asked Lady Madeleine. “Not exactly, my Lady,” said Mr. Fitzloom, “not exactly _Miss_ Fitzloom, rather Miss Aurelia Fitzloom, my third daughter; our third eldest, as Mrs. Fitzloom sometimes says; for really it is necessary to distinguish, with such a family as ours, you know.” “Let us walk,” said Miss Fane to Vivian, for she was now leaning upon his arm; “the evening is deliriously soft, but even with the protection of a cashmere I scarcely dare venture to stand still. Lady Madeleine seems very much engaged at present. What amusing people these Fitzlooms are!” “Mrs. Fitzloom; I have not heard her voice yet.” “No; Mrs. Fitzloom does not talk. Albert says she makes it a rule never to speak in the presence of a stranger. She deals plenteously, however, at home in domestic apophthegms. If you could but hear him imitating them all! Whenever she does speak, she finishes all her sentences by confessing that she is conscious of her own deficiencies, but that she has taken care to give her daughters the very best education. They are what Albert calls fine girls, and I am glad he has made friends with them; for, after all, he must find it rather dull here. By-the-bye, Mr. Grey, I am afraid that you cannot find this evening very amusing, the absence of a favourite pursuit always makes a sensible void, and these walls must remind you of more piquant pleasures than waltzing with fine London ladies, or promenading up a dull terrace with an invalid.” “I assure you that you are quite misinformed as to the mode in which I generally pass my evenings.”