nd smiled too.

"I hope so. If she will let me!"

"She is a radiant creature!" And for a moment he stood watching the girl,
as she stood, goddess-like, amid her group of admirers. His eyes were
deep-set and tired; his scanty grizzled hair fell untidily over a
furrowed brow; and his clothes were neither fresh nor well-brushed. But
there was something about him which attracted the lonely; and Mrs. Friend
was glad when she found herself assigned to him.

But though her neighbour was not difficult to talk to, her surroundings
were so absorbing to her that she talked very little at dinner. It was
enough to listen and look--at Lady Cynthia on Lord Buntingford's right
hand, and Helena Pitstone on his left; or at the handsome officer with
whom Helena seemed to be happily flirting through a great part of dinner.
Lady Cynthia was extremely good-looking, and evidently agreeable, though
it seemed to Mrs. Friend that Lord Buntingford only gave her divided
attention. Meanwhile it was very evident that he himself was the centre
of his own table, the person of whom everyone at it was fundamentally
aware, however apparently busy with other people. She herself observed
him much more closely than before, the mingling in his face of a kind of
concealed impatience, an eagerness held in chains and expressed by his
slight perpetual frown, with a courtesy and urbanity generally gay or
bantering, but at times, and by flashes--or so it seemed to her--dipped
in a sudden, profound melancholy, like a quenched light. He held himself
sharply erect, and in his plain naval uniform, with the three Commander's
stripes on the sleeve, made, in her eyes, an even more distinguished
figure than the gallant and decorated hero on his left, with whom Helena
seemed to be so particularly engaged, "prig" though she had dubbed him.

As to Lady Cynthia's effect upon her host, Mrs. Friend could not make up
her mind. He seemed attentive or amused while she chatted to him; but
towards the end their conversation languished a good deal, and Lady
Cynthia must needs fall back on the stubby-haired boy to her right, who
was learning agency business with Mr. Parish. She smiled at him also, for
it was her business, Mrs. Friend thought, to smile at everybody, but it
was an absent-minded smile.

"You don't know Lord Buntingford?" said Mr. Alcott's rather muffled voice
beside her.

Mrs. Friend turned hastily.

"No--I never saw him till this afternoon."

"He isn't easy to