onference
with the man of whom he was sure, Frampton. Would that he could have
been equally sure of his son! He looked at him almost wistfully
several times during breakfast, and at last, as they rose, gave an
exhortation 'that he would be punctual to dinner at half-past seven,
which would give him ample time, and he hoped he would be--' He paused
for a word, and his son supplied it. 'On my good behaviour, I
understand.' With that he walked off, leaving Lord Ormersfield telling
Mrs. Ponsonby that it was the first introduction, as he had 'for
various reasons' thought it undesirable to bring Fitzjocelyn early to
London, and betraying his own anxiety as to the impression he might
produce on Sir Miles Oakstead. His own perplexity and despondency
showed themselves in his desire to view his son with the eyes of
others, and he also thought the tenor of Fitzjocelyn's future life
might be coloured by his friend's opinion.

Evening brought the guest. Mrs. Ponsonby was not well enough to appear
at dinner, but Mary and Mrs. Frost, pleased to see an historical
character, were in the drawing-room, enjoying Sir Miles's agreeable
conversation, until they caught certain misgivings reflected in each
other's looks, as time wore on and nothing had been seen or heard of
Louis. The half-hour struck; the Earl waited five minutes, then rang
the bell. 'Is Lord Fitzjocelyn come in?'

'No, my Lord.'

'Bring in the dinner.'

Mary longed to fly in search of him, and spare further vexation. She
had assumed all an elder sister's feelings, and suffered for him as she
used to do, when he was in disgrace and would not heed it. She heard
no more of the conversation, and was insensible to the honour of going
in to dinner with the late Secretary of State, as she saw the empty
place at the table.

The soup was over, when she was aware of a step in the hall, and beside
her stood a grey figure, bespattered with mud, shading his eyes with
his hand, as if dazzled by the lights. 'I beg your pardon,' were the
words, 'but I was obliged to go to Northwold. I have shot a
rose-coloured pastor!'

'Shot him!' cried Mary. 'Was he much hurt?'

'Killed! I took him to Miss Faithfull, to be sketched before he is
stuffed--'

A clearer view of the company, a wave of the hand from the Earl, and
the young gentleman was gone. Next he opened the library door, saying,
'Here's my pretty behaviour!'

'Louis! what is the matter?' cried Mrs. Ponsonby.

'I