it,
and found himself _vis-a-vis_ with Sir Maxwell Danby and one of the most
conspicuously dressed ladies who frequented Lady Miller's reunions at
Batheaston.

She was attired in a loose white gown, supposed to be after the Greek
pattern, and her arms were bare, the loose sleeves caught up with a
large brooch. She wore her hair in a plain band with a fillet, and cut
low on the forehead. This lady had sat for her portrait to Gainsborough
in her youth, now long past, and she had become very stout since those
days, when many reigning belles repaired to Gainsborough's studio in
Ainslie's Belvedere.

She talked in a loud voice, and Leslie's attention was soon diverted
from his companion, as he caught a name dear to him.

"Miss Mainwaring is a beauty, no doubt of that," the lady said; "but a
trifle stiff and heavy in manner. Why is she absent to-night? _You_
ought to know, Sir Maxwell."

Sir Maxwell stroked his chin, and said:

"Perhaps she is better engaged, from all I know. Miss Mainwaring's
behaviour is a little eccentric."

"Is there a romance connected with her? I do love a bit of pretty
romance. You know the _on dit_ is that she is to be Lady Danby?"

"My dear lady," Sir Maxwell said, "it is not safe to trust to _on dits_.
From what I have heard, Miss Mainwaring's tastes lie in a somewhat lower
level of society than that in which you, for instance, live and move.
There are, it seems, attractions for Miss Mainwaring in a quarter of the
town where we look for actors and actresses, and such-like cattle--that
is, supposing that we desire their acquaintance off the stage--which I,
for one, do not!"

"I really hardly credit what you say; I vow I can't believe it. There's
some mistake, Sir Maxwell."

"I wish I could agree with you," was the reply; "it is a matter which
affects me very deeply. I do assure you----"

At this moment it was Sir Maxwell's turn to take the hand of Leslie's
partner, and he repeated in a voice which he meant should reach his ear:

"Miss Mainwaring, the lady in question, pays daily and nighty visits to
these low purlieus. Charity is made the pretext, of course."

The dance was over, and the hour for departure drew on.

Leslie Travers watched his opportunity, and lay in wait for Sir Maxwell
in one of the lobbies.

He was passing him with a lady on his arm, when Leslie said:

"A word with you, sir, in private. I demand an apology for the shameful
lies you are circulating. They are lies,