which put them into ready communication with the wonder at whom they had
hitherto looked in awkwardness. Theodora did not come near the group,
nor seem to perceive Violet's entreating glances; and when the Eastern
prince departed, Percy had also disappeared. Violet was gratified by
the ladies around her descanting on his book and his Syriac, and wished
Theodora could hear them.

At that moment she found Theodora close to her, presenting Lord St.
Erme to Mrs. Arthur Martindale! After so much dislike to that little
insignificant light man for being the means of vexing Percy, to find him
the poet hero, the feudal vision of nobility, the Lord of Wrangerton!
What an adventure for her mother to hear of!

It was a pleasant and rather pretty face when seen near, with very good
blue eyes, and an air of great taste and refinement, and the voice was
very agreeable, as he asked some question about the Eastern prince.
Violet hardly knew what she answered.

'I met him yesterday, but it was flat,' he said. 'They had a man there
whose Syriac was only learnt from books, and who could not understand
him. The interpreter to-night was far more au-fait--very clever he
seemed. Who was he?'

'Mr. Fotheringham,' said Theodora.

'The Crusader? Was it, indeed?' said Lord St. Erme, eagerly. 'Is he
here? I wish particularly to make his acquaintance.'

'I believe he is gone,' said Violet, pitying the unconscious victim, and
at once amused, provoked, and embarrassed.

'You know him?'

Violet marvelled at the composure of Theodora's reply. 'Yes, my eldest
brother was his travelling companion.'

'Is it possible? Your brother the "M" of the book?' exclaimed the young
Earl, with enthusiastic delight and interest. 'I never guessed it! I
must read it again for the sake of meeting him.'

'You often do meet him there,' said Theodora, 'as my sister can testify.
She was helping him to revise it last summer at Ventnor.'

'I envy you!' cried Lord St. Erme; 'to go through such a book with such
a companion was honour indeed!'

'It was delightful,' said Violet.

'Those are such delicious descriptions,' proceeded he. 'Do you remember
the scene where he describes the crusading camp at Constantinople? It
is the perfection of language--places the whole before you--carries you
into the spirit of the time. It is a Tasso unconscious of his powers,
borne along by his innate poetry;' then pausing, 'surely you admire it,
Miss Martindale?'

'O, yes,' said