During July the company dispersed and Ralph and Evereld went to stay with the Magnays in London. It was not until the re-assembling in August that the discomforts of the new life began to become a little more apparent. Perhaps it was the intense heat of the weather, perhaps the contrast between the lodgings in a particularly dirty manufacturing town and the Magnays’ ideal home with all its art treasures, and its dainty half foreign arrangement. Certainly Evereld’s heart sank a little when she began to unpack. Their bedroom faced the west and the burning sunshine seemed to steep the little room in drowsy almost tropical heat. She felt sick and miserable. Opening the dressing-table drawer she found that her predecessor had left behind some most uninviting hair-curlers, and some greasepaint. Of course to throw these away and re-line the drawer was easy enough; but by the time she had done it and had arranged all their worldly goods and chattels she felt tired out and was glad to lie down, though she did not dare to scrutinise the blankets and could only try to find consolation in the remembrance that the sheets at least were quite immaculate, and the pillow her own. She was roused from a doze by Ralph’s entrance. “Come and get a little air, darling,” he suggested. “This room is like an oven. Oh! we have got such a fellow in Thornton’s place! the most conceited puppy I ever set eyes on. What induced Macneillie to give him a trial I can’t think, he is quite a novice and though rolling in gold, he has never thought of offering a premium. I never saw a fellow with so much side on. He ought to be kicked!” “Who is he?” said Evereld laughing, as she put on her hat and prepared to go out. “He’s the younger son of an earl, I believe, and rejoices in the name of Bertie Vane-Ffoulkes. He patronises the manager as if he were doing him a great favour by joining his company, and he is already plaguing poor Ivy with attentions that she would far rather be without.” They went to the public garden hoping to find a seat in the shade where they could watch the tennis, and here they came across Ivy and Miss Helen Orme, who usually shared lodgings. In attendance on them walked a rather handsome young man with a pink and white complexion and an air of complacent self-esteem. Ivy catching sight of them hastened forward with joyful alacrity though her _cavalière servente_ was in the middle of one of his most telling anecdotes. “How delightful to meet you again!” she exclaimed taking both Evereld’s hands in hers. “I have been longing to see you. Now, if that obnoxious Mr. Vane-Ffoulkes will but take himself off there are so many things I want to say to you.”