We now shift the scene. At Leadersfort,
where all the company came trooping in
at dinner-time, Mrs. Leader was looking
round anxiously for her son. "Oh, he
had to go out and dine," some one
volunteered as an explanation.

Mrs. Leader gazed in the wonderfully
helpless and beseeching fashion which was
habitual with her when anything occurred
surprising. "Oh, really this is getting too
much."

"He is gone to dine," said a young man,
"with the Doctor who was here to-day,
and whose knowledge may be deficient, but
who has two of the prettiest daughters
doctor ever had."

This speech caused a certain furore. Old
Dick Lumley, still beside her, raised his
eyes from his soup significantly. "A
dangerous fellow this," he said. "No decency
—carry his point any way."

"Low, scheming creature," said Mrs.
Leader, in a growing tumult of anger and
dismay. "What are we to do, though?"
And she said this, much as one might
think of calling in the police for help.

"My dear madam," said Mr. Lumley,
"the only way to check these sort of people
is by not seeing them, overlooking them
utterly, and decline to go into their case,
even if they had it written on posters
covering all the dead walls. See it at no
price. Then send the lad away. I'd get
him leave of absence; the colonels are
always glad to protect their young fellows.
And the next thing I would do would be—
marry him off out of harm's way."

"Indeed it would," said Mrs. Leader;
but all the rest of the evening she was very
distraite. She noticed that the general and
her dear Mysikins were rather cold and
hurt. They did not understand this desertion.

Presently Mr. Cecil returned and went
to his room without joining the company.
In a very few moments Mrs. Leader had
sought him there, her dull eyes flashing,
her chicken skin looking more yellow from
excitement. Mrs. Leader, decked with
flowers in imitation of the gaudiest
produced by nature, hung about with costly
and flaming satin, and wreathed with smiles,
was a fine and wholesome reminder of
mortality and decay. She was now in one
of those ungovernable furies which with
her were like disease.

"What is this? What is the meaning of this
—this idiotic folly? How dare you
leave the house and my guests?"

The shrinking youth listened for a
moment a little appalled. But he recalled
some hints of the Doctor.

"Oh, dare, indeed! You shouldn't speak
in that way. I am an officer, not a child."

"I don't care what you are. You and
your low degrading tastes, disgracing us
all! What do you mean? What folly is
in your head? Are you going astray again?"

The youth coloured. "That's nice of
you to allude to that. I'll do as I like."

"Then I'll make your father do as I like;
so take care. Your sister would make a
nice heiress. Come back into the drawing-
room, and make up to them as well as you
can. You'll have them all laughing at
you, and saying you are half-witted."

"I don't care what they say. I know
what others of the first sort think of the
Findlaters. They would do honour to any
drawing-room in London. I'm sure there's
not so much difference between what my
father was, a poor barrister, and a doctor.
Beside he's of one of the oldest Irish
families, who were princes——"

"Stop, stop," said Mrs. Leader, stamping
her foot; "you sicken me. It is
disgusting to hear you talk in this way.
Here you are with your splendid prospects
and this house full of nice people, and a
charming girl with the best connexions
waiting for you, and you wasting your time
in a childish flirtation with a low, mean
fellow's daughter, a mere adventurer, a
country-town apothecary, who had to fly
from his own country in disgrace!"

"It's not true! That's only some of the
lies with which he has been persecuted.
And I'll tell him that these things are said,
and he'll disprove them."

"I know you will not be so mean as to
betray what your own family say," she
answered, a little alarmed. Then changing
her tone: "Now, my dear Cecil, what is
the use of wrangling in this way? I don't
mind you admiring any pretty girl, if you
do it quietly and without this outrageous
publicity. But you know what we have
all settled for you. And it would be a
cruel disappointment if they took huff and
felt themselves insulted, and left the place.
Every young man of course admires a nice
girl, but he don't let it interfere with the
real, serious business of life. Come, my
dear boy, you are a man of sense, and have
knocked about the world in a cavalry
regiment, and know what I am saying is
truth, and you may depend upon it."

This struck a chord, and the uncertain
youth looked at her with a curious look in
his eyes, half cunning, half pleased. He