it was not addressed to him directly,
Mr. Peto went on complacently.

"Oh, I have often told people what was
good for them before now," said Mr. Peto.
"There's nothing like a judicious amount
of champagne. The doctors prescribe it.
Lady Marystone was kept alive two years
on it. You know that in your practice."

"To be sure," said the Doctor, heartily,
"perfectly right: at times it is worth the
Dublin pharmacopoeia." On this foundation
the Doctor rapidly ran up a structure
of acquaintanceship.

He was listening all the time, and heard
that this young gentleman had also
undertaken the direction of the forthcoming
tableaux. Mrs. Leader had given him full
powers. He was getting down Gay, the
eminent costumier, who arranged it all at
Banffshire, where the duke had tableaux
last year; also a scenic artist, whose pictorial
gifts were described very much in the same
way. Gradually the Doctor made his way, as
he always contrived to do: one by one he
drew in the people sitting round him, until
he got launched in one of his comic stories,
which, in spite of themselves, convulsed
some of these genteel folk. Mrs. Leader,
at the top of the table, was much disturbed
at this forward intimacy.

"Who on earth is this?" said Mr.
Lumley, whom the laughter had
interrupted. "What a strange fellow!"

"Oh, that—Doctor," said Mrs. Leader,
in great distress; "a very assumptive
person. You saw how he introduced
himself here, presuming on his attending
Cecil."

"One of the boisterous Irish," said Mr.
Lumley, fixing his glass in his eye—a very
dim eye—for the old beau was past seventy.
"Dreadful fellows to have much to do
with. I was at Dublin Castle, and ought
to know."

"Oh, yes," said the lady, "a terrible
scheming person, he and his family—you
can have no idea."

"Ah! so I heard this morning. Pretty
daughters, and Mr. Cecil hit hard."

Mrs. Leader became confidential, and
dropped her voice. "Oh, dreadful!" she
went on; "you can't imagine the lengths
they have gone to about Cecil. I assure
you we only just got here in time."

"Oh, that's the old story; just a flirtation,
to be forgotten to-morrow. The way
would be, of course, to ignore the whole
thing; not to be brought to see it by any
manner of means—a thing out of nature,
and too ludicrous to be thought of a
moment. That was the way Lady Dashwood
did;" and old Dick Lumley dropped
his voice, and proceeded to unfold details.
He was, indeed, a cold, hollow, selfish old
forager, with amazing vitality and power of
pushing himself. But it was people of
title that he loved and relished. Among
mere plebeians he was uncomfortable,
wretched even; and some of his friends
said that if he could bring his mind to
look towards that low and levelling
creature Death, he would take care that he
should be laid genteelly as near to dear
Lord Blank as possible, or between the
Honourable Dash and Sir Thomas.

The Doctor, during this lunch, picked
up, as he called it, many details about
what was going on, or about to go on.
Several young ladies had been engaged to
take part in these tableaux, and Mr. Peto
dwelt with rapture on the two Miss St.
Maurs, the business of whose life such
performances almost seemed to be. He
enlarged on their merits with rapture, to
which Mrs. Leader listened with an almost
mournful interest. "You see," she said,
"it would be charming, but—but, you see,
we don't know them."

"Oh, if that's all, I could get them for
you easily. They are not shy girls, and
never stand upon ceremony."

This had been arranged, and Mrs.
Leader, in a tumult of gratitude always
for any favours that had relation to the
fashionable world, could not express all
she felt to her guest. Though full of
purpose and clearness in other respects, on
this point she was childishly weak and
helpless.

After the lunch there was a walk, and
Mr. Cecil Leader, made a vast deal of in
the house by every one—perhaps according
to a mot d'ordre—and never left a moment
to himself, was absorbed into a game of
croquet on the lawn. It seemed to the
Doctor that this young man was avoiding
him, and became uneasy, always "skulking
off," as the Doctor called it. But,
"easy, Peter, all in good time!" was the
Doctor's whispered comment to himself.
However, he had this bit of satisfaction.
When they were all lounging about the
trim-shaven lawn, looking at the game,
and at a short lull in the exciting sport,
the Doctor walked boldly up to Cecil, and
said, in a loud, cheerful voice: "Mind,
we'll expect you to dinner, Mr. Leader."

The young man looked confused, and
then made excuses. "Oh, to-day, you
know, there's company."