day and the most felicitous
_rencontre_ that had ever occurred, until the dinner hour was at hand.
The Count was at her Grace's side, and she was leaning on Miss Temple's
arm. Lord Montfort and Miss Grandison had fallen back apace, as their
party had increased. Ferdinand fluttered between Miss Temple and his
cousin; but would have attached himself to the latter, had not Miss
Temple occasionally addressed him. He was glad, however, when they
returned to dinner.

'We have only availed ourselves of your Grace's permission to join our
dinners,' said Count Mirabel, offering the duchess his arm. He placed
himself at the head of the table; Lord Montfort took the other end. To
the surprise of Ferdinand, Miss Grandison, with a heedlessness that was
quite remarkable, seated herself next to the duchess, so that Ferdinand
was obliged to sit by Henrietta Temple, who was thus separated from Lord
Montfort.

The dinner was as gay as the stroll. Ferdinand was the only person who
was silent.

'How amusing he is!' said Miss Temple, turning to Ferdinand, and
speaking in an undertone.

'Yes; I envy him his gaiety.'

'Be gay.'

'I thank you; I dare say I shall in time. I have not yet quite embraced
all Count Mirabel's philosophy. He says that the man who plagues himself
for five minutes about a woman is an idiot. When I think the same, which
I hope I may soon, I dare say I shall be as gay.'

Miss Temple addressed herself no more to Ferdinand.

They returned by water. To Ferdinand's great annoyance, the Count did
not hesitate for a moment to avail himself of the duchess's proposal
that he and his companion should form part of the crew. He gave
immediate orders that his cabriolet should meet him at Whitehall Stairs,
and Ferdinand found there was no chance of escape.

It was a delicious summer evening. The setting sun bathed the bowers of
Fulham with refulgent light, just as they were off delicate Rosebank;
but the air long continued warm, and always soft, and the last few miles
of their pleasant voyage were tinted by the young and glittering moon.

'I wish we had brought a guitar,' said Miss Grandison; 'Count Mirabel,
I am sure, would sing to us?' 'And you, you will sing to us without a
guitar, will you not?' said the Count, smiling.

'Henrietta, will you sing?' said Miss Grandison. 'With you.'

'Of course; now you must,' said the Count: so they did.

This gliding home to the metropolis on a summer eve, so soft and still,
wit