when a man of lord ticehurst's character and disposition makes up his mind to achieve a certain result--in the turf slang of the day, "goes in for a big thing"--he is not easily thwarted, or, at all events, he does not give up his idea without having tried to carry it through. the indiscreet, illiterate, but by no means bad-hearted, young nobleman aforenamed had given himself up, heart and soul, to a passion for the opera-singer known to him as miss grace lambert, and had gone through a psychological examination of his feelings, so far as his brain-power permitted, with the view of seeing how the matter lay, and what would be his best means for securing his ends. the notion of succeeding dishonourably had never entered his head, or at least had not remained there for a moment. in that knowledge of the world which comes, no one knows how, to persons who are ignorant of everything else--that savoir fairewhich is learned unconsciously, and which can never be systematically acquired--lord ticehurst was a proficient. he was not, as times go, an immoral man, certainly not a wicked one; but he lived in a loose set, and it did not arise from conscientious scruples that he had not "tried it on" that grace lambert should become his mistress. such a result would have given him considerable éclatamongst his friends, and his religious notions were not sufficiently developed to make him shrink from taking such a step. he did nottake it because he knew it would be useless; because he knew that any such offer would be ignominiously rejected; that he would be spurned from the door, and never permitted again to be in the society of the girl whom he really loved. there was only one way out of it--to offer her marriage. and then the question came, did he really love her sufficiently for that, and was he prepared to stand the consequences?

did he really love her? he thought he could put in an answer to that, by jove! did he really love her? you should ask old gil about that! old gil knew more of him than anyone else; and he could tell you--not that he knew what it was, what was the reason of it, don't you know?--that for the whole of last season he had been an altered man. he knew that himself--he confessed it; he felt that he had not taken any proper interest in the stable, and that kind of thing; indeed, if he had not had old gil to look after it, the whole thing would have gone to the deuce. he knew that well enough, but he could not help it. he had been regular spoons on this girl, and he was, and he should be to the end of the chapter, amen. that was all he had got to say about it. his life had been quite a different thing since he had known her. he had left off swearing, and all that cussed low language that he used to delight in once upon a time; and he'd got up early, because he thought there was a chance of meeting her walking in the park (he had met her once, and solemnly walked between her and mrs. bloxam for an hour without saying a word); and he had cut the balletand its professors, with whom formerly he had very liberal relations. the coryphéesand the little rats, whom he had been in the habit of calling by their christian names, who knew him by the endearing abbreviation of "ticey," and to whom formerly he was delighted to stand and talk by the hour, received the coldest of bows from their quondam friend, as he stood amongst the wings of the opera-scenery on the chance of a word of salutation from the prima donnaas she hurried from her dressing-room on to the stage. but that word and the glance at her were enough. "it's no good," he used to say; "it won't do after that. if i go away to supper at old chalkstone's, and find bella marshall and kate herbert and half-a-dozen of the t.r.d.l. balletthere, 'pon my soul it don't amuse me when they put the lobster-claws at the end of their noses; and i think bagwax and clownington and old spiff--well, damme, they're old enough to know better, and they might think about--well, i don't want to preach about what we're all coming to, and what must be precious near for them."

a man of this kind thus hit suffers very severely. the novelty of the passion adds considerably to his pangs. the fact that he cannot speak out his hopes and wishes irritates and worries him. to throw the handkerchief is easy enough at the first start--becomes easier through frequent practice; but to win the prize is a very different matter. with a lady of his own rank it would have been much easier wooing; but with grace, lord ticehurst felt himself placed at a double disadvantage. he had to assuage the rage of his friends at the honour he was doing her, and he had to prove to her that he was doing her no honour at all. the former, though a difficult, was the easier task. lord ticehurst knew his aunt, lady carabas, quite well enough to be aware that, though she was the first grande damewho had introduced miss lambert into society, and that though up to that minute she had been the young lady's most steadfast friend, she would be the very first to rail against the mésalliance, and do all she could to cry down that reputation which she had so earnestly vaunted. others would follow suit at once, and he and his wife would have to run the gauntlet. his wife! ah, that was just the point; he would not care a rap if she were his wife, if he had her brains and her beauty to help in winning the game for him. but lord ticehurst's knowledge of the world was too great to permit him to flatter himself thus far; he knew that he had never received any substantial acknowledgment from miss lambert; and he recollected, with a very unpleasant twinge, what gilbert lloyd had said about miles challoner's attentions in that quarter--attentions received almost as favourably as they were earnestly proffered, as lord ticehurst had had an opportunity of witnessing at mrs. stapleton burge's reception.

young noblemen of large fortunes are not in the habit of fighting with their inclinations and wishes. lord ticehurst felt that he must do his best to make this girl marry him--whether she would or not, he felt was doubtful, and acknowledged the feeling to himself with an honest frankness which was one of his best characteristics. he bore away with him his dull, wearying heartache, his "restless, unsatisfied longing," to goodwood, where it cankered the ducal hospitality, and made him think but little of the racing-prizes which he carried off. he bore it away with him to the hotel at eastbourne, where, pending the doncaster week, he and his friends had set up their lares and penates, and were doing their best to gain health and strength from the sea-breezes and quiet, and make up for the ravages of the london season.

except in the desultory manner already narrated, lord ticehurst had not revealed to his confederate the state of his feelings towards miss lambert. he had said nothing positive to him regarding what was now his fixed intention, of proposing for that young lady's hand, and it is probable he would have been consistently reticent had not chance brought the confession about in this way.

it was a splendid august morning, and the two gentlemen were seated in the largest sitting-room of the pretty hotel, with its bay window overlooking the pleasant promenading crowd of seaside loungers, bathable children, bathed young ladies with their limp hair hanging down their backs, old gentlemen walking up and down with mouths and nostrils wide open to inhale as much ozone as possible during their stay, and the other usual common objects of the sea-shore. breakfast was just over, and cigars had already been lighted. the blue vapour came curling round the sides of the sporting-print in which gilbert lloyd's head and shoulders were enveloped, and mixed with another blue vapour which stole over the more massive folds of the times, with which lord ticehurst was engaged.

a shout of "hallo!" betraying intense astonishment, roused gilbert from his perusal of the vaticinations of "calchas." "what makes you hallo out like that? what is it?" he asked.

"what is it! o, nothing particular," replied lord ticehurst; adding immediately, "by jove, though!"

"no, but i say, etchingham, something must have roused you to make you give tongue. what was it, old boy? no more scratchings for the leger?"

"no, something quite different to that. well, look here, if you must know;" and his lordship lazily handed the paper to his friend, and pointed to a particular paragraph.

"advertisement!" said lloyd as he took it. "now what the deuce can you find to interest you among the advertisements?" but the expression of his face changed as he saw, in large letters, the name of miss grace lambert; and on further perusal he found that mr. boulderson munns, whose noble style he immediately recognised, informed the british public that he had made arrangements with this distinguished prima donnafor a tour during the winter months, in the course of which she would visit the principal cities in england, ireland, and scotland, accompanied by a troupeof distinguished talent, superintended by mr. munns himself, who would lend all the resources of the justly-celebrated band and répertoireof the grand scandinavian opera-house to the success of the design.

gilbert lloyd, who had felt his colour ebb when he first saw his wife's name, read through the advertisement carefully, but said, nothing as he laid the paper down.

"have you read it?" asked lord ticehurst.

"i have."

"and what do you think of it?"

"think of it! what should i think of it, except that it will probably be a profitable speculation for--for miss lambert, and certainly a profitable one for munns?"

"well but, i say, look here! it mustn't come off."

"what mustn't?"

"why, this what's-its-name--tour!"

"then it will be a bad thing for munns. but, seriously, etchingham, what on earth do you mean? what are you talking about?"

"well, i mean that--that young lady, miss lambert, mustn't go flitting about the country."

"why not? what have you to do with it?"

"why, haven't i told you--don't you recollect, before ascot and all that?--only you're so deuced dull, and think of nothing but--well, never mind. don't you recollect my saying i intended to ask miss lambert to be my wife?" and lord ticehurst, whom the avowal and the unusual flux of words rendered a bright peony colour, glared at his mentor in nervous trepidation.

gilbert looked at him very calmly. the corners of his mouth twitched for an instant as he began to speak, but he was otherwise perfectly composed as he said, "i had forgotten; you must forgive me; the stable takes up so much of my time that i have scarcely leisure to look after your other amusements. o, you intend to propose for this young lady! do you think she will accept you?"

"that's a devilish nice question to ask a fellow, that is. 'pon my soul, i don't think there's another fellow in the world that would have had the--well, the kindness--to ask that. i suppose it will be all right; if i didn't, i shouldn't--"

"shouldn't ask, eh? well, i suppose not, and it was indiscreet in me to suggest anything different. what do you propose to do now?"

"well, what do you think? perhaps i'd better go up to town--deuced odd town will look at this time of year, won't it?--and see miss lambert, and make it all straight with her; and then go off and see old munns, and tell him he'll have to give up his notion of the what's-its-name--the tour. he'll want to be squared, of course, and we must do it for him; but i shall leave you to arrange that with him."

"of course; that will not be a difficult matter." gilbert lloyd waited a minute before he added, "but there is no necessity for you to go to london on this portentous matter. miss lambert is much nearer to you than you imagine."

"much nearer! what the deuce do you, mean?" asked lord ticehurst, looking round as if he expected to see gertrude entering the room.

"exactly what i say. i had a letter this morning from hanbury; he's staying at hardriggs, old sir giles belwether's place, not a dozen miles from here; and he mentioned that miss lambert was a guest there too. wait a minute; i'll read you what he says. no, never mind, it's only some nonsense about lady belwether's insisting on old bel having a dean to stay in the house at the same time to counteract the effect of the stage, and--"

"d--d impertinence!" muttered lord ticehurst. "i always did hate that hanbury--sneering beast! o, about twelve miles from here, eh? might drive over to luncheon? what do you say, gil? do us good, eh?"

"do yougood, very likely, etchingham! at all events, if you have made up your mind to this course, it's the best and the most honourable way to bring it to an issue at once. and i'm not sure that this is not an excellent opportunity. you will find the lady unfettered by business, free from the lot of fribbles who are always butterflying about her in town, and have only to make your running. i can't go; i've got letters to write, and things to do, and must stop here."

within half an hour lord ticehurst's phaeton came spinning round to the door of the hotel, and gilbert, stepping out on to the balcony, saw him--got up to the highest pitch of sporting négligé--drive off amid the unsuppressed admiration of the bystanders. then lloyd walked back into the room and flung himself on a sofa, and lit a fresh cigar, and as he puffed at it, soliloquised, "what was that i saw on a seal the other day? quo fata ducunt.. what a wonderful thing that they should have led to this; that they should have led me to being the most intimate friend of a man who is now gone off to propose to my wife! my wife! i, wonder when i shall make up my mind as to what my real feelings are towards her. after years of indifference, of absolute forgetfulness, i see her, and fall madly in love with her again--so madly that i pursue her, plainly seeing it is against her will, and, like an idiot, give her the chance of saying that to me which makes me hate her worse than ever--worse even than when we parted, and i did hate her then. but i've a feeling now which i had not during all that long interval of our separation. then i did not care where she was, or what she did. now, by the lord, if i were to think that she cared for any man--or not that, i know she does, curse him! i know she does care for that man--i mean, if she were to give any man the position that was mine--that was? that is, when i choose to claim it--he and i would have to settle accounts. that poor fool has no chance. gertrude has no ambition--that's a fault i always found in her; if she had had, we might have risen together; but she was nothing when she was not sentimentally spoony; and she would throw over my lord, who really loves her in a way that i never thought him capable of, the title, money, and position, for the beaux yeuxand the soft speeches of my sweet brother. what will be the end of that, i wonder? by heavens, if i saw thatculminating--if i thought that she was going to claim the freedom we agreed upon for the sake of bestowing herself on him, i'd stand the whole racket, run the whole risk, declare myself and my position openly, and let her do her worst!" he rose from the sofa and walked to the window, where he stood looking out for a few moments, then returned to his old position. "the worst, eh? how i hate that cursed sea, and the glare of the sun on the cliffs! it always reminds me of that infernal time. do her worst! she's the most determined woman i ever saw. i shall never forget the look of her face that night, nor the tone of her voice as she whispered behind her fan. well, sufficient for the day, &c. that's to be met when it comes. it hasn't come yet. i may be perfectly certain what reply will be given to my dear young friend etchingham, who has just started on his precious fool's-errand; and as for the other man--well, he's not staying at hardriggs, or hanbury would have mentioned him. there will be this country tour to fill up the winter; and by the time next season arrives, he may be off it, or she may be off it, or a thousand things may have happened, which are now not worth speculating about, but which will serve my turn as they come." and gilbert lloyd turned to his writing-desk, and plunged into calculations and accounts with perfectly clear brains, in the working of which the thoughts of the previous half-hour had not the smallest share.

meanwhile, lord ticehurst sat upright in his mail-phaeton, driving the pair of roans which were the cynosure of the park during the season, and the envy of all horsey men always, through some of the loveliest scenery in sussex. not that scenery, except grieve's or beverley's, made much impression on his lordship. constant variety of hill and dale merely brought out the special qualities and paces of the roans; wooded uplands suggested good cover-shooting; broad expanse of heath looked very like rabbits. to such a thorough sportsman thoughts like these occurred involuntarily; but he had plenty beside to fix what he called his mind. though he had made as light as possible to his henchman of the expedition on which he was engaged, and given himself the airs of a conquering hero, he was by no means so well satisfied of his chances of success, or of his chances of happiness, were success finally achieved. his chances of success occupied him first. well, he did not know--you could never tell about women, at least he couldn't, whether they meant it, or whether they didn't. he didn't know; she was always very friendly, and that kind of thing; but with women that went for nothing. they'd draw you on, until you thought nothing could be more straight; and then throw you over, and leave you nowhere. n-no; he couldn't recollect anything particular that miss lambert had ever said to induce him to hope: she'd admired the roans as the groom moved them up and down in front of her windows; and she'd said more than once that she was glad some song of hers had pleased him, and that was all. not much indeed; but then he was an earl; and the grand, undying spirit of british flunkydom had led him to believe, as indeed it leads every person of his degree to believe, that "all thoughts, all passions, all delights, whatever stirs this mortal frame," are at the command of anyone named in debrett, or eulogised by sir bernard burke: "ticehurst, earl of, viscount etchingham, b. 1831, succeeded his father the 3d earl in," &c. &c. what was the use of that, if people were not to bow down in the dust before him, and he were not to have everything he wished? heaps of fellows had been floating round her all the season, but no such large fish as he had risen at the bait; and though she had not particularly distinguished him, still he had only to go in and win the prize. what was it that gilbert lloyd had let drop about some rival in the field? o, that man challoner! yes, he had himself noticed that there had been a good deal of attention paid in that quarter, and by no means unwillingly received. queer customer that old gil! sees everything, by jove! fancy his spotting that! good-looking chap, challoner, and quite enough to say for himself; but, lord, when it came to the choice between him and the earl of ticehurst!

lord ticehurst smiled quite pleasantly to himself as this alternative rose in his mind, and flicked his whip in the air over the heads of the roans, causing that spirited pair to plunge in a manner which made the groom (a middle-aged, sober man, with a regard for his neck, and a horror of his master's wild driving) look over the head of the phaeton in fear and trembling. as the horses quieted down and settled into their paces, lord ticehurst's spirits sunk simultaneously. suppose it were all right with the lady, what about the rest of the people? not his following--not bardolph, nym, and pistol, and the rest of the crew. lord ticehurst might not be a clever man, but he had sufficiently "reckoned up" his clientèle, and he knew, whatever they might think, none of their tongues would wag. but the outsiders--the "society" people--what would they say to his bringing a lady from the boards of the opera to sit at the head of his table at home, and demand all the respect due to her rank abroad? they wouldn't like it; he knew that fast enough. o yes, of course they'd say that he was not the first who'd done it, and it had always been a great success hitherto, and so on; but still he had to look to his own position and hers, and--by jove, lady carabas! she'd make it pleasant for them, and no mistake! her ladyship liked her protégée, liked to flaunt her in the eyes of rival lion-hunters, gloried in the success she achieved, and the excitement she created; but her nephew knew well enough what her feelings would be if she had to acknowledge the brilliant prima donnaof the opera-house as a relation; if she had to endure the congratulations of her female friends on the distinguished addition to the family circle which her kindness and tact had brought about.

what the deuce did it matter to him! the roans were then pulling well and steadily together, and the phaeton bowled merrily along the level turnpike-road. what the deuce did it matter to him! was not he the earl of ticehurst, and was he not to be his own master? and was not he old enough, and rich enough, and big swell enough to do what he pleased, and to take a sight at the world's odd looks, and pooh-pooh the world's odd remarks? he was, and he intended to prove it; and after all, he would like to see one of them to compare with his pretty grace. why, who had they made a fuss about last season? alice farquhar, an insipid-looking, boiled-veal kind of girl, with her pale freckled face and her red hair; and constance brand, with her big black eyebrows, and her flashing eyes, and her hook-nose--talk about tragedy queens, well, there was constance brand cut out for that to a t! everybody said what a charming thing it was when alice farquhar married old haremarch, and how, ever since, he had been clothed and in his right mind; and as for constance brand--well, everyone knew she had saved the family credit by marrying young klootz, who now called himself cloote, and who only suffered himself to be reminded by his income that he was lineally descended from old jacob klootz, the banker and money-lender of frankfurt-am-main. neither of these girls was to be compared to miss lambert, and he was determined that--lord ticehurst's spirits sunk again just at this juncture, as the gates of the hardriggs avenue came within sight.

the belwethers were very pleasant old-fashioned people, who lived the same life year after year without ever getting tired of it. they were at hardriggs, their very pleasant ancestral seat, from august until the end of march, and at their very pleasant town-house in brook-street from april till the end of july. when in the country, old sir giles shot, fished, and attended the quarter-sessions, the conservative demonstrations, and the volunteer reviews of his county. when in town, he slept a good deal at the carlton, and rode a clever cob about the park between twelve and two, distinguished for the bottle-green cutaway coat with velvet-collar, and the high muslin checked cravat of sixty years ago. lady belwether's character was well summed up in the phrase "kind old goose," which a particular friend applied to her. a madness for music was the only marked feature of her disposition; at home she visited all the old women, and helped the curate, and gave largely to the flannel club, and looked after the schools, and worried the doctor, and played the harmonium in the village-church on sunday; and in town, what with the opera three nights a-week, and the monday popular concerts, and the matinéesand soirées musicalesof distinguished creatures, with a dash of exeter hall oratorio, and a soup?onof philharmonic, the old lady's life was one whirl of delight. lady belwether had fallen in love with gertrude at first sight. she was by no means a gushing old lady, nor, though so devoted to music, had she ever made the acquaintance of any professional. hitherto she had always stood on her dignity when such a proposition had been made to her. she had no doubt, she used to say, that the artists in question were pleasant people in their way, but that was not her way. however, the first glance at miss lambert made the old lady wild to know her: there never was such a sweet face--so interesting, so classical---yes, the old lady might say, so holy; "and her voice, my dear, it gives me the notion of an angel singing." so, worthy old lady belwether having ascertained that miss lambert was perfectly "correct" and ladylike, procured an introduction to her, and commenced heaping upon her a series of kindnesses which culminated in the invitation to hardriggs. this invitation was accepted principally by the advice of lord sandilands, who had known the belwethers all his life, and who felt that gertrude could not enjoy the quiet and fresh air requisite after her london season with more thoroughly respectable people.

it was after the invitation had been given and accepted that lady belwether began to feel a little nervous and uncomfortable about what she had done. for in the pride of her heart and the warmth of her admiration for gertrude, she told everybody that dear miss lambert was coming to them at hardriggs in the autumn. among others, she mentioned the fact to miss belwether, sir giles's sister, a dreadful old woman who lived in a boarding-house at brighton, in order to be in the closest proximity to her "pastor," the reverend mr. tophet, and who uttered a yelp of horror at the announcement. "i have said nothing, maria," said this horrible old person, "to your gaddings-about and the frivolous style of your existence, but i must lift up my voice when you tell me you are about to receive a stage-player as your guest." "stage-player" is an awkward word to be thrown at the head of a leader of county society, and it hit home, and rather staggered dear old lady belwether; not that the gallant old lady for an instant entertained the notion of giving up her intended guest, or suffered herself to appear the least abashed in the eyes of her antagonist. "it's a mere matter of taste, my dear martha," she replied; "for my own part, i would sooner associate with a lady who, though a singer, is undoubtedly a lady, than with man who calls himself a minister, who was a shoemaker, and who always must be a vulgar boor." having fired which raking shot at the reverend tophet, the old lady sailed away and closed the conversation.

but she felt that it would be a great advantage if she could have someone staying in the house at the same time with miss lambert, whose presence would prove an effectual check on the ridiculous gossip likely to be prevalent in the county. the lay element would be excellently represented in the respectably dull and decorous people who were coming; but there was wanting an infusion of the clerical element, which could best be met by inviting sir giles's old friend the dean of burwash. henry asprey, dean of burwash, had been known as "felix" asprey at school and college, from his uninterrupted run of luck. the son of a poor solicitor, a good-looking idle lad, of capital manners and address, but with very little real talent, he had won an exhibition from his school, a scholarship, a fellowship, and a double-second at the university, no one knew how. he had taken orders, and travelled as tutor to the then premier's son through egypt and the holy land; on his return had published a little book of very weak poems, under the title palm-leaves and dates, which, with his usual luck, happened to hit the very bad taste of the day, and went through several editions. his friend the premier gave him a good living, and he had scarcely been inducted into it when he won the heart of a very rich widow, whom he married, and whom, with his usual luck, within the course of four years he buried, inheriting her fortune of three thousand a-year. it was to console him in his deep affliction that his friend the premier, just then quitting office for the third and last time, bestowed upon him the deanery of burwash. he was now some fifty years old, tall, thin, and eminently aristocratic-looking; had a long transparent hand, which was generally clasping his chin, and a soft persuasive voice. he liked music and poetry, and good dinners; was found at private views of picture-exhibitions; belonged to the athenaeum club; and liked to be seen there conversing with professional literary men. people said he would be a bishop some day, and he thought so himself--he did not see why not; he would have looked well in his robes, spoken well in the house of lords, and never committed himself by the utterance of any extreme opinion. that was a thing he had avoided all his life, and to it much of the secret of his success might be ascribed. his sermons were eloquent--his friends said "sound," his enemies "empty;" he deplored the division in the church with sympathetic face and elegant gesture; but he never gave adhesion to either side, and showed more skill in parrying home-questions than in any other action of his life.

such was dean asprey, to whom lady belwether wrote an invitation to hardriggs, telling him frankly that miss grace lambert would be one of the guests, and asking if he had any objection to meet her. the dean's reply, written in the neatest hand on the thickest cream-laid notepaper, arrived by return of post. he accepted the invitation as heartily as it was given ("genial creature!" said dear old lady belwether); he fully appreciated dear lady belwether's frankness about her guest, for he was aware how could he fail to be?--of the censoriousness of the world towards persons of his calling. he had, however, made it his rule through life, and he intended to pursue the same course until the end, to shape his conduct according to the dictates of that still small voice of his conscience rather than at the bidding of the world. ("the dear!" said lady belwether.) he should therefore have the greatest pleasure in making the acquaintance of miss grace lambert, of whom he had already heard the most favourable accounts, not merely as regarded her great genius, but her exemplary conduct. and he was, with kindest regards to giles, his dear lady belwether's most sincere friend, henry asprey. "a christian gentleman," said the old lady, with tears of delight standing in her eyes as she finished the letter; "and martha to talk of her stage-players and tophets indeed, when a man like that does not mind!"

the belwethers were rather astonished when, just after the party had sat down to luncheon, they heard lord ticehurst announced. for though there was a certain similarity of sporting tastes between him and sir giles, the disparity of age caused them to move in widely different sets; while lady belwether knew his lordship as the nephew and one of the principal attendants on, and abettors of, lady carabas, whom the old lady held in great aversion. "one of the new style of ladies, my dear," she used to say with a sniff of disdain; "finds women's society too dull for her, must live amongst men, talks slang, and i daresay smokes, if one only knew." however, they both received the young nobleman with considerable empressement; and lord ticehurst, on taking his seat at the luncheon-table, found that he knew most of the assembled party. the dean was almost the only one with whom he had not a previous acquaintance; and lord ticehurst had scarcely whispered to lady belwether a request to know who was the clerical party on his left, when the dean turned round and introduced himself as an old friend of the late lord ticehurst's. "i used to meet your father at lady walsingham's receptions when lord walsingham was premier, and he allowed me to call him my very good friend. we had certain tastes in common which bound us together--geology and mineralogy, for instance. you are not a geologist, i believe, my lord?"

"well, no," said lord ticehurst frankly; "that ain't my line."

"n-no," said the dean. "well, we all have our different tastes--tot homines, quot sententi?.. your father was a man who was passionately fond of science; indeed, i often used to wonder how a man absorbed as he was in what generally proves to ethers the all-engrossing study of politics could find time for the discussion of scientific propositions, and for the attendance at the lectures of the royal institution. but your father was a man of no ordinary calibre; he was--"

"o yes, he was a great gun at science and electricity, and all that kind of thing, at least so i've been told. excuse me for half a minute; i want to get some of that ham i see on the sideboard." and lord ticehurst rose from the seat, to which he did not return after he had helped himself, preferring a vacant place at the other end of the table, by the aide of sir giles belwether, whose conversation about hunting and racing proved far more entertaining to his lordship. moreover, from his new position he could keep a better view of miss lambert, who did not, he was pleased to observe, seem particularly gratified or amused at the rapid fire of conversation kept up by the young men on either side of her.

when luncheon was over, and the party rose and dispersed, lord ticehurst was seized upon by sir giles, who took him to the stables, expatiating lengthily and wearily on the merits of his cattle; and it was not until late in the afternoon that the visitor could make his escape from his host. he thought that he would have had his journey for nothing, seeing no chance of getting a private interview with miss lambert, when on his return to the house to see if he could find lady belwether, to whom he intended making his adieux, he heard the sound of a piano, and recognised the prelude of a favourite ballad of gertrude's. before the song could begin, lord ticehurst had entered the room, and found miss lambert, as he expected, alone at the piano. gertrude looked round at the opening of the door, and when she saw who it was, half rose from her seat.

"pray don't move, miss lambert," said lord ticehurst, approaching her; "pray don't let me disturb you."

"you don't disturb me in the least, lord ticehurst," said gertrude, sitting down again. "i was merely amusing myself. i had not even the business excuse of being 'at practice.'"

"don't let me interfere, then. amuse yourself and me at the same time. do now, it will be a charity; 'pon my word it will."

"no, no, no; i'm not so cruel as that. i know the terrible infliction music is to you in london. i've watched too often the martyr-like manner in which you've suffered under long classical pieces, and the self-denying way in which you have applauded at the end of them, without deliberately exposing you to more torture in the country."

"assure you you're wrong, miss lambert; but i'm too happy to think you've done me the honour to watch me at all, to go into the question. no, please don't go. if you won't sing to me, may i speak to you?"

gertrude, who had again half-risen, turned round to him with a look of wonder in her eyes. "may you speak to me, lord ticehurst? why, of course!"

the answer was so manifestly simple and genuine, that it quite took lord ticehurst aback, and there was a moment's pause before he said, "thanks, yes--you're very good. i wanted to speak to you--wanted to say something rather particular to you, in point of fact."

the hesitation in his manner, an odd conscious look in his face, had revealed the object of his visit. gertrude knew what he was about to say, but she remained perfectly calm and unembarrassed, merely saying,

"fray speak, lord ticehurst; i am quite at your service."

"thanks very much--kind of you to say so, i'm sure. fact of the matter is, miss lambert, ever since i've had the pleasure of knowing you i've been completely stumped, don't you know?--bowled over, and that kind of thing. i suppose you've noticed it; fellows at the club chaff most awfully, you know, and i can't stand it any longer; and, in short, i've come to ask you if--if you'll marry me, and that kind of thing."

"you do me great honour, lord ticehurst," commenced gertrude; "very great honour--"

"o," interrupted his lordship, "don't you think about that; that's what they said at white's, but i said that was all d--d stuff--i beg your pardon, miss lambert; all nonsense i mean--about honour, and all that. why," he went on to say, having worked himself up into a state of excitement, "of course i know i'm an earl, and that kind of thing. i can't help knowing about my--my station in life, and you'd think me a great ass if i pretended i didn't; but when you're my wife, you'll be--i mean to say you'll grace it and adorn it--and--and there's not one in the whole list fit to be named along with you, or to hold a candle to you."

"i cannot thank you sufficiently for this expression of kind feeling towards me, lord ticehurst," said gertrude. "no, hear me for one minute;" as he endeavoured again to interrupt her. "ever since you have known me you have treated me with the utmost courtesy and kindness, and you have now done me the greatest possible honour. you may judge, then, how painful it is to me--" lord ticehurst's jaw and hat here dropped simultaneously--"how painful it is to me to be compelled to decline that honour."

"to--to decline it?"

"to decline it."

"to say no!"

"to say no."

"then you refuse me! case of chalks, by jove! miss lambert, i--i'm sorry i've troubled you," said lord ticehurst, picking up his hat and making for the door. "i hope you won't think anything of it, i--good-morning!--damme if i know whether i'm on my head or my heels," he added when he got outside, and was alone.

lord ticehurst was so completely bouleverséthat he scarcely knew how he got to his phaeton, or how he tooled the roans, who were additionally frisky after the belwether oats, down the avenue. he knew nothing until he got to the gate, on the other side of which was an open fly. he looked vacantly at its occupants, but started as he recognised lord sandilands and miles challoner.

"o, that's it, is it?" said his lordship to himself. "damme, old gil was right again!"