kyl had
artfully insinuated such a conjuncture. "George Onslow's attentions
were," he said, "quite palpable; and although up to this Miss Dalton
did not seem to give encouragement, who could tell what time and daily
intercourse might effect? There was Norwood, too, with the rank of
peeress in his gift; there was no saying how an ambitious girl might
be tainted by that bait." In fact, the Prince had no time to lose; and,
although nothing less accorded with his tastes than what imposed haste,
he was obliged to bestir himself on this occasion.

If we have dwelt thus long upon the secret thoughts of the company,
it is because their conversation was too broken and unconnected for
recording. They talked little, and that little was discursive. An
occasional allusion to some social topic, a chance mention of their
approaching departure from Florence, some reference to Como and its
scenery, formed the whole; and then, in spite of Jekyl, whose functions
of "fly-wheel" could not keep the machine a-moving, long pauses would
intervene, and each lapse into a silence apparently more congenial than
conversation. All this while Jekyl seemed to be reading the complex
scheme of doubt, irresolution, and determination that filled
Midchekoff's mind. The stealthy glances of the Russian's eyes towards
Kate, the almost painful anxiety of his manner, to see if she noticed
him while speaking, his watchful observance of her in her every accent
and gesture, told Jekyl the struggle that was then passing within him.
He had seen each of these symptoms before, though in a less degree,
when the coveted object was a horse or a picture; and he well knew how
nothing but the dread of a competition for the prize would rouse him
from this state of doubt and uncertainty.

The evening dragged slowly over, and it was now late, when Lord Norwood
made his appearance. With a brief apology for not coming to dinner, he
drew Jekyl to one side, and, slipping an arm within his, led him into an
adjoining room.

"I say, Jekyl," whispered he, as they retired out of earshot of the
others, "here's a pretty mess Onslow's got in. There has been a fracas
in the street about Miss Dalton. How she came there at such a time, and
alone, is another matter; and George has struck Guilmard, knocked him
down, by Jove! and no mistake; and they're to meet tomorrow morning. Of
course, there was nothing else for it; a blow has but one reparation,
George will have to stand the fire of the