“That is just it,” he said, putting on a mournful look. “If I had not been a clever young man, things would have gone a great deal better with me. There was nothing of that foolish description I am sure, Aunt Caroline, in your time.” “No,” she said; then added, almost peevishly, “I do not know how to communicate with the girl, Rollo. She is so out of society.” “But only on the other side of the way,” he said. “Come, write her a note, and I will take it myself, if Jeremie or Joseph are too grand to go.” “Must I write her a note? I never in my life sent a note to the Lodges,” said Lady Caroline, looking at her hands as if the performance would soil them. Then she added, with a look of relief, “I very often see her when I am out for my drive. You can tell the coachman to stop if he sees her, and I will tell her to come--that will be much the better way.” “But if she should be engaged?” Lady Caroline gave him a very faint smile of amiable scorn and superior knowledge. “You forget these people are not in society,” she said. To make head against this sublime of contempt was more than Rollo could do. Lady Caroline vanquished him as she had vanquished many people in her day, by that invincible might of simple dulness against which nothing can stand. Mr. Rollo Ridsdale was one of the many very clever young men in society who are always on the eve of every kind of fame and fortune, but never manage to cross the border between hope and reality. He had been quite sure of success in a great many different ways: at the university, where he was certain of a first class, but only managed to “scrape through” the ordeal of honours in the lowest room;--in diplomacy, where he was expected to rise to the highest rank, but spoiled all his chances by a whisper of a state secret, of no importance to anybody, when only an unpaid attaché;--in the House of Commons, where he broke down in his maiden speech, after costing what his family described as a “fortune” to secure his election;--and finally, in commerce, where his honourable name was just secured from the _éclat_ of a disgraceful bankruptcy by the sacrifice of a second “fortune” on the part of the family. It is but fair to add, however, that Rollo had nothing to do with the disgracefulness of the commercial downfall in which he was all but involved. And here he was at eight-and-twenty once more afloat, as the fashionable jackal and assistant of an enterprising _impresario_, indefatigable in his pursuit of the prima donna of the future, and talking of nothing but operas. This was why he had made that moonlight promenade under Lottie Despard’s windows on the evening of his cousin’s wedding-day. He did not know her, but Lottie knew him as the populace know all, even the most insignificant, members of the reigning family. Lady Caroline’s nephew, Augusta’s cousin, was of much more importance to the community than any of the community had been to him up to this