lly, Henry," Lady Mary Rochester said to her husband, a few
minutes before the dinner-gong sounded, "for once you have been
positively useful. A new young man is such a godsend, and Charlie
Peyton threw us over most abominably. So mean of him, too, after the
number of times I had him to dine in Grosvenor Square."

"He's gone to Ostend, I suppose."

Lady Mary nodded.

"So foolish!" she declared. "He hasn't a shilling in the world, and he
never wins anything. He might just as well have come down here and
made himself agreeable to Lois."

"Matchmaking again?" Rochester asked.

She shook her head.

"What nonsense! Charlie is one of my favorite young men. I am not at
all sure that I could spare him, even to Lois. But the poor boy must
marry someone! I don't see how else he is to live. By the bye, who is
your protege?"

Rochester, who was lounging in a low chair in his wife's
dressing-room, looked thoughtfully at the tip of his patent shoe.

"I haven't the faintest idea," he declared.

His wife frowned, a little impatiently.

"You are so extreme," she protested. "Of course you know something
about him. What am I to tell people? They will be sure to ask."

"Make them all happy," Rochester suggested. "Tell Lady Blanche that he
is a millionaire from New York, and Lois that he is the latest thing
in Spring poets. They probably won't compare notes until to-morrow, so
it really doesn't matter."

"I wish you could be serious for five minutes," Lady Mary said. "You
really are a trial, Henry. You seem to see everything from some quaint
point of view of your own, and to forget all the time that there are a
few other people in the world whose eyesight is not so distorted.
Sometimes I can't help realizing how fortunate it is that we see so
little of one another."

"I can scarcely be expected to agree with you," Rochester answered,
with an ironical bow. "I must try and mend my ways, however. To return
to the actual subject under discussion, then, I can really tell you
very little about this young man."

"You can tell me where he comes from, at any rate," Lady Mary
remarked.

Rochester shook his head.

"He comes from the land of mysteries," he declared. "I really am
ashamed to be so disappointing, but I only met him once before in my
life."

Lady Mary sighed gently.

"It is almost a relief," she said, "to hear you admit that you have
seen him before at all. Please tell me where it was that you met," she
added, stu