am confident she will, yet be happy. I can never make her so. Our
engagement in old days was rather the result of family arrangements than
of any sympathy. I love her far better now than I did then, and yet
she is the very last person in the world that I would marry. I trust, I
believe, that my conduct, if it have clouded for a moment her life, will
not ultimately, will not long obscure it; and she has every charm and
virtue and accident of fortune to attract the admiration and attention
of the most favoured. Her feelings towards me at any time could have
been but mild and calm. It is a mere abuse of terms to style such
sentiments love. But,' added he sarcastically, 'this is too delicate a
subject for me to dilate on to Miss Temple.'

'For God's sake, do not be so bitter!' she exclaimed; and then she
added, in a voice half of anguish, half of tenderness, 'Let me never be
taunted by those lips! O Ferdinand, why cannot we be friends?'

'Because we are more than friends. To me such a word from your lips is
mere mockery. Let us never meet. That alone remains for us. Little did
I suppose that we ever should have met again. I go nowhere, I enter
no single house; my visit here this morning was one of those whimsical
vagaries which cannot be counted on. This old lady indeed seems, somehow
or other, connected with our destiny. I believe I am greatly indebted to
her.'

The page entered the room. 'Miss Temple,' said the lad, 'my lady bid me
say the duchess and Lord Montfort were here.'

Ferdinand started, and darting, almost unconsciously, a glance of fierce
reproach at the miserable Henrietta, he rushed out of the room and made
his escape from Bellair House without re-entering the library.

CHAPTER VI.

_Containing an Evening Assembly at Bellair House_.

SEATED on an ottoman in the octagon library, occasionally throwing a
glance at her illuminated and crowded saloons, or beckoning, with a fan
almost as long as herself, to a distant guest, Lady Bellair received the
world on the evening of the day that had witnessed the strange rencontre
between Henrietta Temple and Ferdinand Armine. Her page, who stood at
the library-door in a new fancy dress, received the announcement of
the company from the other servants, and himself communicated the
information to his mistress.

'Mr. Million de Stockville, my lady,' said the page.

'Hem!' said her ladyship, rather gruffly, as, with no very amiable
expression of countenance