families struggling desperately, and fighting on
—on a crust.  The De Courcys, the Fitz-maurice
Cravens, the Percy Grosvenors, the
Langham Ryders, and many more, who entered
gloriously, with sails and colours flying, and
gradually sank into poor dirty condemned
colliers.  But still the tone of the public
was generous, or rather, there was a secret
understanding in the interest of all, that no
one should be put on trial, no unworthy
inquisition set on foot (always provided that
nothing herein contained should be to the
prejudice of scandal and gossip), or the result used
in evidence against them.  Once a fair appearance
was made, society was satisfied.  Hence
came the value of that gathering at the Port;
hence every nerve was strained to put in an
appearance there, and hold your own on the
Prado.  Alas! the privations, the sore but
genteel want, the pauperism, the desperate
shifts, the mean resources of this colony, if
all collected, would fill up one of the bitterest
cups or caldrons known upon earth.  Yet
it was not the fault of the natives.  They were
enduring, kindly, self-denying, hoping against
hope, and absurdly trustful. Where they
found a true gentleman and family reduced
and suffering, they were polite, and generous,
and forbearing.  And though rueful, would
accept excuses for deferred payment cheerfully
again and again.  Generations of shabby
swindling English succeeding each other
overtaxed their patience, and have made them
what they are now, suspicious, greedy, and
merciless.

Mr. Blacker, having gone his rounds, looked in
here, and had a word: "My dear ma'am—such an
addition—charming people—the nicest—highly
connected.  Maxwell, my good friend, just go and
leave your card—the nicest people—just come.
I want to get a few—you know—just to help
them on at first."  Then he finished at the
consul's office, pushing his way through people
who were ordering wine, asking information,
and bursting with complaints. "Here, Dick,
a word with you a moment; a very
important matter.  Just step in with me."
Then confidentially: "See here, Dick, some
first-rate people just come; and we must
help them along in every way.  Really good
people.  Let Mrs. Dick call early; they'll like
it, I have reason to know."  Having got through
a deal of "work " in the morning, Blacker went
back to his new friends.  They were really
high-bred-looking people, according to the
Dieppe standard—Mr. Beaufort particularly,
and his brother, Ernest Beaufort, both very tall
and officer-looking.  Ernest showed the deepest
contempt for the place, walking about with
speed, contempt on his face, and loudly
expressing his disgust—behaviour which at once
made him an object of interest to the colony,
and showed them that he really belonged to
high life.  The Misses Beaufort were tall
flashy girls, and their mamma was presently
to be pronounced the perfection of lady-like
elegance.

CHAPTER VII. A PROPOSAL.

MR. GILBERT WEST, with a face at least a
year younger in its expression than it was the
night before, was in his apartments about two
o'clock on the same day, reading an English
newspaper with some distraction, for his mind
was travelling away to other things more delightful.
There was an under-current of complacency,
because he now felt that his judgment had not
been at fault.  Suddenly Mr. Dacres, "Dacres
the Delightful," as some admirers called
him, came in, with his cheerful face composed
almost to an expression of sorrow.  He held
his hand out:  "My dear West, I have come to
you to speak about last night.  I can't say how
grieved I am.  The fact is, I am worried,
harassed, hunted from post to pillar, and heartsick
and weary.  My dear West, say you won't
give it a thought; say you have forgotten."

"To be sure," said Mr. West; "it all passed
from my mind in a second.  I knew it was only
the forgetfulness of the moment."

"Generous, generous always.  Not a speck
stains the pure glass.  As my Lulu said to me,
'Mr. West, papa, is too noble not to dismiss it
from his mind.'  God help me, West, but I am
in a miserable way."

The other looked grave. He knew this
exordium pretty well.

"Such a time as I had of it over there.
They don't know.  I wouldn't they did for worlds.
No, let me suffer; but keep it from them, West,
my poor darlings at home.  Most of this time,
when they thought I was amusing myself,
canvassing for parliament, and all that, where do
you suppose I was—in the horrors of a jail."

This was true, and a very cheerful fortnight
Mr. Dacres had spent in the Whitecross Prison
of that day.

"It is very unfortunate," said Mr. West,
gravely; "but I really don't know what to
say. I have so often given advice, and—-—"

"You have, you have," said the other, "and
it is none of your fault.  Only all I am anxious
for is to keep this from my own darlings at
home.  I have no spirits to carry it off.  Would
to Heaven I had!  Yet, what must I appear
to them?  There's the thing.  Poor little Lulu;
what a home for her!  She's not happy, West.
Do you know, I remark a change in her since I
have been away—marks as if a struggle were going
on in her—a restless manner, a distrait look."

Mr. West had said many times over that he
knew the character of Mr.Dacres in all its depths;
that he was never taken in a moment by his sham
bonhomie or maudlin warmth.  Yet, at this
moment, he was all interest and belief.  Mr. Dacres
saw it too.  He looked round mysteriously.

"Shall I tell you what I suspect—what I
know?  Would I be thus frank with any other
man but yourself, West?  Would I taint her
pure name by dragging it into such a
humiliating confession?  But it is in her interest,
and I don't care what construction any man
may put on it.  You know my heart.  Come
here, West.  I found it out before I was two
hours in the house.  I know her secret."