getting redder, still looked round from one to
the other with a curling lip.

"A most original joke," he said, with an
attempt at bitterness. "You are improving
every day."

"I only repeat what was told me, and what is
reported in the town."

"And what do they report in the town?
Pray go on," said foolish Fermor. "O pray
go on."

"Well," said the other, "as you ask me;
you then did your best to cut out another fellow
—that heavy built man with the large horse—
and tried on the looks and graces and a whole
dressing-case full of arts. And when you thought
you had all safe they suddenly and coolly turned
you out. So I think, my dear fellow, to be taking
up the championship of such people who have
behaved in this way, is being rather too good
natured. I only tell you this for your own good,
you know."

The delight of the audience at this point
knew no bounds. A low-born, ungentlemanly
set—he would give the world to mortify them,
and put them down.

"Before the man with the large horse our
poor friend had to beat a retreat. Of course
he couldn't contend with the large man. A
good fortune, I am told. O, these women,
Fermor, these women! I hope it will be a
lesson to you."

Fermor could scarcely contain himself any
longer. If he put up with this much more it
would become a standing tyranny. "What
wise people you all are," he said. "From
beginning to end there's not a grain of truth
in it."

"Don't be sure of that," said the other,
sharply. "They all heard the same, too. At
any rate, that marriage is all settled, and Twigg
here saw the pair walking about the town
together. So, my dear friend," he added, rising,
"dry your eyes, for your pipe is completely put
out."

Again came forth the roar at Fermor's
expense, making his ears tingle. "You're going
to this party to-night?" he said.

"Well!" said the other, looking round from
the door.

"Well," said Fermor, "I'm going too; and
we shall see whether, to use your forcible
language, my pipe is put out, as you say." This
was received with a sort of jeer.

Fermor went to his room chafing in a flurry
of agitation. "It is growing unbearable," he
said. "No wonder the service is becoming
what it is when such low creatures are let into
it. No matter, I shall have them all at my feet
yet. I'll confound the whole crew." He then
proceeded to decorate himself with his best care
and finish, determining, for that night at least,
to produce an artistic work. The delicate
"spiritual" toning of his face would be a new
effect, and, under wax-light, who could tell
what further result as yet undreamt of. By
eleven the scaffolding was down, and the figure
stood out perfectly finished. He was pleased.
As he looked in the glass, something about "a
head of Ary Scheffer" occurred to him.

CHAPTER XX. MAJOR CARTER'S "LITTLE PARTY."

MAJOR CARTER'S rooms were of a very modest
order. They were not very large, not very
high, not very long, and not very broad. This
was known to most people, but it was not so
well known that he got them very cheap.

The little chambers, for they were not "lodgings,"
which was a mean description, were now
blazing with light. There was to be a little
music. They were gay and tasteful chambers,
and were excellent in every point but room, and,
though a sort of polite famine reigned, the major
was unaccountably profuse in light. "Light your
rooms, light your rooms," he used to say, in his
pleasant way. Wax he considered the true
basis of society. It supplied furniture, gilding,
jewels, meat, drink, and clothes that is, supper,
champagne, and dress.

The "rooms" could be seen afar off blazing
like the lantern of a lighthouse, and inside the
illumination produced astonishing marvels. They
spread out into spacious apartments. The
furniture became glorified. Guests found their
old tulle turned for them cheaply into new, and
possibly their older cheeks brightened artificially
into young.

While Captain Fermor dressed, there was a
scene of another kind going on not very far away
from him, in the house of the Manuels. Mr.
Hanbury had been there that evening, but had
only seen the eldest Miss Manuel. Her sister
was lying down with a headache. Latterly his
boisterous tone had been quite tempered down.
He had come in very often, and had sat in a
moody unsettled way, talkative and silent by
spasms. Of this night he had abruptly asked
were they sure they were going to Mr. Carter's,
quite sure? He was told they were. Then, in
the disappointed way, he answered that he
would go too, as it would be most likely the
last party he would be at there. He was tired
of the place and of its monotony, and had made up
his mind to go in a day or two. "I am a sort
of wandering man," he said, "and half an hour
gets me ready for the road. The horses Bates
will look after." He amplified this text a good
deal, then returned to his inquiry if they were
sure—all of them—to be there that night? "I
should like to go to Australia," he said. "That
would be the place for me. The woods and
prairies, hunting and fishing. I believe those
are the only things I can understand. As for
the world and society, I begin to find I am a
mere child. I mistake things, the commonest
things. I have too plain and matter-of-fact a
mind for the world. I believe in my senses,
and take words and speeches to be what they
mean; and so," added John Hanbury, with a
rueful smile, "it is better that I should be off
to the backwoods and sheep-walks, unless," he
added, "something turns up to stop me."

An hour later, Pauline Manuel was with her
sister as she dressed. It was nearly eleven