he conventional errors which
beset the inexperienced Londoner," said John, smiling slightly at the
recollection. "He talked in a familiar manner of persons whose names
were unknown to him the day before yesterday; and told well-known
anecdotes about well-known people whom he hadn't had time to meet, as
though they had only just happened. The kind of stories outsiders
tell to new-comers. And he professed to be bored at every party he
attended. I won't say that the _habitue_ is always too well bred, or
too grateful to his entertainers, to do anything of the kind; but he
is certainly too wise or too cautious."

"Perhaps he was bored?" said Lady Mary, wistfully. "Knowing nobody,
poor boy."

"The first time I met him on neutral ground was at a dance," said
John. "He looked very tall and nervous and lonely, and, of course, he
was not dancing; but, nevertheless, he was the hero of the evening,
or so Miss Sarah gave me to understand. But you can imagine it for
yourself. The war just over, and a young fellow who has lost so much
in it; the gallant nephew of the gallant Ferries; besides his own
romantic name, and his eligibility. I took him off to the National
Gallery, to make acquaintance with the portrait of our cavalier
ancestor there; and I declare there is a likeness. Miss Sarah had
visited it long ago, it appears. For my part, I am glad to think that
these fashionable young women can still be so enthusiastic about a
wounded soldier. Sarah said they were all wild to dance with him, and
ready to shed tears for his lost arm."

"And was he much with Sarah?"

John laughed and shrugged his shoulders. "Miss Sarah is a star with
many satellites. She raised my hopes, however, by appearing to have a
few smiles to spare for Peter."

"And she must have got him the invitation to Tintern Castle," said
Lady Mary. "That is why he went up to Scotland."

"I see."

"Then she got him another invitation, I suppose, for he went to the
next house she stayed at; and to a third place for some yachting."

"What did Lady Tintern say?"

"That's just it. Sarah is in Lady Tintern's black books just now. She
is furious with her, Mrs. Hewel tells me, because she has refused Lord
Avonwick."

"Hum!" said John. "He has forty thousand a year."

"I don't think money would tempt Sarah to marry a man she did not
love," said Lady Mary, reproachfully. "There was Mr. Van Graaf, the
African millionaire. She wouldn't look at him, and he offered to
set