hing him closely, and carefully
modeling her manner by his. Yet no stranger could have inferred, from
word or look, that they had not met for years, still less that they
had ever met on terms of intimacy. If L'Isle needlessly prolonged the
conversation, to the annoyance of the gentlemen at her elbow, his sole
object was to prove to her, beyond the possibility of doubt, by his
easy self-possession, that he had now, at least, attained to a sublime
indifference where she was concerned.

The ice once broken, accident seemed to throw them frequently into the
same company. L'Isle doubtless needed relaxation from his historical
labors; and a London season had at least the attraction of novelty for
him. He was, too, just the man to win friends among the ladies; yet he
still made it a point, whenever he met Lady Mabel, to bestow on her a
few minutes cold attention and indifferent notice, for old
acquaintance sake.

Lady Mabel stood in no need of these attentions. It was not her first
season; and many a butterfly, that hovered about that garden which
blooms in winter at the West-End, had hailed with delight the
reappearance of this rare flower. And she liked to have them buzzing
about her; it was her due, and yielded pleasant pastime. Yet while
busiest dealing sentiment, jest, and repartee among them, she now had
always an ear and a word for L'Isle, when he condescended to bestow a
few minutes cold consideration on her.

Her gentlemen in waiting wondered at her having so much to say to
L'Isle. She seemed to be under an obligation to be at leisure for him;
and Sir Charles Moreton, who was argus-eyed where Lady Mabel was
concerned, ventured to ask: "What pleasure can you find in talking to
this austere soldier? His smile is a sneer; he warms only to grow
caustic, and his cynical air betrays how little he cares even for
you."

"Were you ever clogged with sweet things?" asked Lady Mabel. "At times
I tire of bonbons, and long for vinegar, salt and pepper. My austere
friend deals in these articles."

She seemed to have found a special use for him, treating him as a
complete thinking machine, of high powers of observation, inflection,
thought and reason, but not susceptible of aught that savored of
feeling, sentiment or passion. She quietly threw the mantle of Mentor
over his shoulders, deferred to his judgment, had recourse to him as a
store-house of knowledge; and seemed so fully impressed with the fact
that he had a head, as u