sed, and even kissed, when they
came to a dark and shady place. And before he parted with her at the
door of her brother's house, he had put his arms round her and kissed
her on the lips.

Was it all pretence--all for the sake of those twenty thousand pounds of
hers? Oliver swore to himself that it was not. She was such a pretty
little thing--such a dear, loving little girl, in spite of her fun and
merriment and spirit--one could not help feeling fond of her. Not that
he was going to acknowledge himself capable of such a weakness when he
next talked to Rosalind.

He was strolling idly along the east side of Russell Square as these
thoughts passed through his mind. He had completely forgotten the
stroller whom he had seen leaning against the railings of the Square
gardens; but he was unpleasantly reminded of that gentleman's existence
when a hand was laid upon his shoulder, and a voice said in his ear--

"I've been waiting here six hours, Oliver, and I must have a word or two
with you."

CHAPTER IX.

THE ELDER BROTHER.

Oliver turned round sharply, with an air of visible impatience. He knew
the voice well enough, and the moon-light left him no doubt as to the
lineaments of a face with which he was quite familiar. Francis Trent was
not unlike either Rosalind or Oliver; but of the two he resembled his
sister rather than his younger brother. True, he did not possess her
beauty, but he had her sleepy eyes, her type of feature, her colorless
skin, and jetty hair. The colorlessness had degenerated, however, into
an unhealthy pallor, and the stubbly beard which covered his cheeks and
chin did not improve his appearance. Besides he was terribly out at
elbows; his coat was green with age, his boots were broken, and his
cuffs frayed and soiled. His hat was unnaturally shiny, and dented in
two or three places. Altogether he looked as unlike a brother of the
immaculate Oliver and the exquisitely-dressed Rosalind as could possibly
have been found for either in the world of London.

Oliver surveyed him with polite disgust, and waved him back a little.

"You have been drinking coarse brandy, Francis," he said, coolly; "and
you have been smoking bad tobacco. I wish you would consult my
susceptibilities on those points when you come to interview me. You
would really find it pleasanter in the end."

"Where am I to find the money to consult your susceptibilities with?"
asked the man, with a burst of what seemed like very