ce--and, flattery apart, a devilish good fellow into
the bargain. Oh, I would sooner a thousand times that Flory had taken a
fancy to you."

Lumley Ferrers bowed his head but said nothing. He fell into a reverie,
and Lord Saxingham took up his official red box, became deep in its
contents, and forgot all about the marriage of his daughter.

Lumley pulled the check-string as the carriage entered Pall Mall, and
desired to be set down at "The Travellers." While Lord Saxingham was
borne on to settle the affairs of the nation, not being able to settle
those of his own household, Ferrers was inquiring the address of
Castruccio Cesarini. The porter was unable to give it him. The Signor
generally called every day for his notes, but no one at the club
knew where he lodged. Ferrers wrote, and left with the porter a line
requesting Cesarini to call on him as soon as possible, and he bent
his way to his house in Great George Street. He went straight into his
library, unlocked his escritoire, and took out that letter which, the
reader will remember, Maltravers had written to Cesarini, and which
Lumley had secured; carefully did he twice read over this effusion, and
the second time his face brightened and his eyes sparkled. It is now
time to lay this letter before the reader: it ran thus:--

_"Private and confidential."_

"MY DEAR CESARINI:

"The assurance of your friendly feelings is most welcome to me. In much
of what you say of marriage, I am inclined, though with reluctance, to
agree. As to Lady Florence herself, few persons are more calculated
to dazzle, perhaps to fascinate. But is she a person to make a home
happy--to sympathise where she has been accustomed to command--to
comprehend, and to yield to the waywardness and irritability common to
our fanciful and morbid race--to content herself with the homage of a
single heart? I do not know her enough to decide the question; but I
know her enough to feel deep solicitude and anxiety for your happiness,
if centred in a nature so imperious and so vain. But you will remind me
of her fortune, her station. You will say that such are the sources from
which, to an ambitious mind, happiness may well be drawn! Alas! I fear
that the man who marries Lady Florence must indeed confine his dreams
of felicity to those harsh and disappointing realities. But, Cesarini,
these are not words which, were we more intimate, I would address to
you. I doubt the reality of those affections