"Then how shall I put it? Shall I say 'and
that you will permit Lord Castletowers to have the
pleasure of. . . .'"

"Nonsense! Write what I told you at first,
and leave me to arrange it, when it comes to the
point."

Saxon shook his head.

"No, no," said he. " I must not ask to be
allowed the pleasure of driving her down, when
I know all the time I am not going to do
anything of the sort. It wouldn't be true."

A faint blush mounted to the Earl's honest
brow; but Sir Charles Burgoyne smiled
compassionately.

"Suppose, now," said Saxon, " that I tell her
I've bought a new mail phaeton, and hope she
will accept a seat in it on Saturday—will that
do?"

"Famously. She'll of course conclude that
you drive, and the rest is easily managed when
the time comes. Let's see how it reads . . . .
hum . . . . 'which I trust you will honour with
your presence; also that you will permit me to offer
you a seat in my mail phaeton, if the day be fine
enough for my friends to drive down in open
carriages'"

"Open carriages," repeated Saxon, as his pen
travelled to the end of the sentence. " Anything
more?"

"No; I think that is enough."

"Then I only add—'yours very truly, Saxon
Trefalden' I suppose?"

"Heaven forbid!"

"Isn't it polite enough?" asked Saxon, laughing.

"Polite enough? Didn't I tell you half an
hour ago that to be commonly polite is nothing
in a case like this? You must approach her on
your knees, my dear fellow, and offer up your
little Richmond dinner as if it were a burnt
sacrifice to the immortal gods! Say—
'Condescend, madam, to accept my respectful homage,
and allow me to subscribe myself, with the
profoundest admiration, your obedient and faithful
servant, Saxon Trefalden.' That's the way to put
it, Burgoyne?"

"Oh, unquestionably," yawned that gentleman.
"You can't crowd too much sail."

"May I inquire to which Princess of the Blood
Royal this letter is addressed?" asked Mr.
Trefalden.

"To a far greater She than any princess,"
replied Castletowers. " To the prima donna of the
season—to the Graziana herself!"

Mr. Trefalden slightly elevated his eyebrows
on receiving this tremendous information, but
said nothing.

"And she's the grandest creature!" ejaculated
Saxon, now folding and sealing his note.
"Burgoyne introduced me to her last night, behind
the scenes. You can't think what a gracious
manner she has, cousin William!"

"Really?"

"She gave me that bouquet up there—it had
just been thrown to her."

"How condescending!"

"Wasn't it?—and I such an utter stranger—
a nobody, you know! I felt, I assure you, as if
I were in the presence of Juno herself. There,
the note's quite ready."

And Saxon, all unconscious of the faint touch
of sarcasm in his cousin's voice, lifted up his
bright young face with a smile of boyish exultation,
and rang the bell.

"Gillingwater, send Curtis at once with this
note, and tell him to wait for an answer.
Anybody here?"

"Young man from Facet and Carat's, sir, with
case of jules. Young man from Cartridge and
Trigger's, with harms. Passle from Colnaggy's;
passle from Breidenback's; passle from Fortnum
and Mason's; passle from Crammer and Beale's,"
replied Saxon's magnificent valet.

"The parcels can wait. The messengers may
come in."

Mr. Gillingwater retired, and the "young
men" were immediately ushered in; one with a
small mahogany box under his arm; the other
carrying a still smaller morocco case. The first
contained a brace of costly inlaid pistols; the
second, three bracelets of different designs.

"By Jove, what pistols!" exclaimed
Castletowers. "Look here, Burgoyne, did you ever
see such finish?"

"Never. They might be worn by the Sultan."

"They are exact fac-similes of those made for
his Highness the Maharajah of Jubblepore,"
observed the messenger.

Sir Charles examined the weapons with the
interest of a connoisseur.

"What a Bashaw you are, Trefalden!" he
said. "We shall have you cantering down
Rotten-row on a white elephant before long.
These are really the most gorgeous pistols I
have seen. Who are the bangles for? The
Graziana?"

"One of them, if . . . ."

"If what?"

"If you think she would not be offended?"

"Offended, my dear fellow! Is pussy offended
if you offer her a cup of milk? or Carlo, if you
present him with a bone?"

"What do you mean?" said Saxon, quite
shocked at the levity of these comparisons.

"I mean, that every woman would sell her
soul for a handful of diamonds and an ounce of
wrought gold, and that our fair friend is no
exception to the rule. What put it into your head,
Trefalden, to give her a bracelet?"

"It was Mr. Greatorex's idea."

"Humph! Just like him. Greatorex has
such generous impulses—at other people's
expense!"

"I was very much obliged to him for thinking
of it," said Saxon, somewhat warmly. " As I
am to any friend who is kind enough to tell me
what the customs of society are," he added,
more gently.

"They are very beautiful bracelets, all three
of them," said Lord Castletowers.