een no English literature--for twenty years; this is his wail and moan
whenever an editor allows him to lift up his voice. It was feeble on the
part of your friend to ask Ichabod; she won't get anything out of him. I
can see a reason for most of the others--those whom I know; but Ichabod
is hopeless."

Mangan suddenly ceased these careless comments; his attention was
arrested by the entrance of a tall young lady who came in very
quietly--without being announced even.

"I say, who's that?" he exclaimed, under his breath.

And Lionel had been startled too; for he had convinced himself ere he
came that Honnor Cunyngham was certain to be in Scotland. But there she
was, as distinguished-looking, as self-possessed as ever; her glance
direct and simple and calm, though she seemed to hesitate for a moment
as if seeking for some one whom she might know in the crowd. From the
fact of her not having been announced, Lionel guessed that she was
staying in the house; perhaps, indeed, she had been in the drawing-room
before. He hardly knew what to do. He forgot to answer his friend's
question. If dinner were to be happily announced now, would it not save
her from some embarrassment if he and she could go in their separate
ways without meeting? and thereafter he could leave without returning to
the drawing-room. Yet, if she were staying in the house, she must have
known that he was coming?

All this swift consideration was the work of a single second; the next
second Miss Honnor's eyes had fallen upon the young man; and immediately
and in the most natural way in the world she came across the room to
him. It is true that there was a slight touch of color visible on the
gracious forehead when she offered him her hand; but there was no other
sign of self-consciousness; and she said, quite quietly and simply,

"It is some time since we have met, Mr. Moore; but, of course, I notice
your name in the papers frequently."

"I hardly expected to see you here to-night," he said, in reply. "I
thought you would be off to Scotland for the salmon-fishing."

"I go to-morrow night," she made answer.

At the same moment Lord Rockminster came up, holding a bit of folded
paper furtively in his hand; the faithful brother looked perplexed, for
he had to remember the names of these various strangers; but here at
least were two whom he did know.

"Mr. Moore, will you take Miss Cunyngham in to dinner?" he murmured, as
he went by; so that Lionel found