NEVER FORGOTTEN.

PART THE SECOND.
CHAPTER IX. A HOLLOW WORLD.

CAPTAIN FERMOR, very restless—destitute, as
it were, as regards that pleasant sort of romance
which used to be his daily food—was in a state of
impatient hostility with the world in which he
lived. On this very day, he had determined,
himself, to go and spend a pleasant tranquil afternoon
with Miss Manuel, and thus work the
current clear. One of the old pleasant conversations
—a conversation, that is, where he talked,
and brought out the fine Arabian ?? ?y?, now,
alas! too long in stable.

That wild notion of her not seeing him, which
presented itself to him as he walked, must have
been a mistake or misconception. Perhaps—and
it was the ?? ?y? whispered this—perhaps she
felt there was some of the old danger in these
retired interviews, and was wary in exposing
herself to risk. At this notion he smiled, and patted
the Arabian's neck with fondness.

He was smiling as he was just turning into
Alfred-place. He saw the balcony, and the
flowers in the balcony; but he suddenly saw
under the balcony a lady coming out on the
steps. The lady wore a dress that he thought he
knew, and a bonnet; and, looking closer, he
remembered young Mrs. Fermor, his wife.

He was thunderstruck—speechless. This,
then, was it. Ah! this explained it all. Here was
the interference that had closed the door against
him. With bitterness on his lips he turned away
full of anger. "Upon my word, it has come to a
pretty pass!"

He thought first of hurrying after her and
convicting her in her "spy system" at once. But
this seemed imprudent: he could not trust
himself in the street. How was he to pay his visit?
He was "upset"—not "in tone" to be smiling and
fluent. It was always the way. Besides, he
thought bitterly, the door was effectually closed
now.

He walked away very fast, came through the
Park, where the gay ribbons were still winding
round, and the gaudy flags of fashion still flying.
"All here should be my friends," he said; "my
true sphere until I lost it." And he stood at the
rail, and saw the thousand-and-one little boudoirs
on wheels pass him, now stopping, now going on.
He knew everybody—by sight at least. The men
perched high, driving spirited horses, and the
young girls in the tiny boudoirs. Suddenly he
started.

"I declare," he thought. "Old friends. I
am so glad." And he was at the window of a
little chamber in a moment.

These were some "Craven people," a mother
and daughters, who lived in the purest fashionable
air. Sojourned permanently in ball-rooms, and
occasionally went out to their own home. To
him they were always kind. He had leave to
come in when he pleased, and at every dinner
they gave, dined, as of course. They allowed
him to do a hundred things for them—the best
proof of fashionable intimacy and affection.
Fermor's eyes lighted with complacent delight as
he drew near to the window. He was thinking
what a surprise for them.

At the same moment a tall gaunt man was
raising his hat and approaching the window.
There were smiles of welcome, three smiles of
welcome, and three soft "O! Mr. Romaine" 's.

Fermor, a little disordered, said: "O Mrs.
Craven! So glad, I am sure——"

The three faces looked at him. One, a younger
and simpler face—she showed no scars as yet—
said, softly:

"Mamma, Mr. Fermor! You know——"

"Ah, to be sure. How-de-do, Mr. Fermor? So
long, you know——"

"O, Mr. Romaine! we have been dying to see
you. Why didn't you come?"

The other girl, who was her mother's sergeant,
said:

"Ah, you didn't care. I know I never missed
you."

FERMOR. I am so glad, Mrs. Craven. I am
sure I have been (this spoken a little sadly) all
over the world since I saw you.

MRS. CRAVEN (with no curiosity). Indeed.
O, of course.

FERMOR. It is so curious, meeting in this——

THE SERGEANT. You won't tell us? No? I
said so to mamma. No you won't.

MR. ROMAINE (gently pressing on Fermor to
the window). I beg your pardon—would you?
Thanks! (Fermor, now behind, with only a
glimpse of the boudoir, over a steep hill formed
by Mr. Romaine's back.)