THE DEAR GIRL.

By THE AUTHOR of "BELLA DONNA," "NEVER
FORGOTTEN," &c.

CHAPTER IX. THE NEW ARRIVAL.

MR. BLACKER's private trumpeting on
behalf of his new friends—the captain coarsely
called it "touting"—had been attended with such
success, that when the hour for Prado drew
near and the packet was not an hour off, the
Port had become unnaturally crowded, and
then a buzz and hum of voices to this tune and
key: "Have you seen them? Rolling in gold.
The nicest people in the world. Very highly
connected. Going to spend a long time here."
Presently, those passing and repassing, four and
three abreast, were excited by knowing that the
moment had come. Mr. Blacker appeared in
charge of a party—new faces, new figures, new
dresses; waving, and flourishing, and pointing, and
declaiming. He was in great spirits, radiant with
pride and proprietorship. Curiosity in the
community was always allowed to gratify itself without
regard to restraint. Every one might rush,
crowd, or stare as eagerly as they pleased.
Voices were not lowered, and the strangers heard
distinctly as they passed by, "There they are!
Those are they!" They walked on with the
indifference of perfect good breeding, perhaps a
little amused and smiling, as all "nice" well-bred
people are. The tall and "prince-like" Mr.
Guernsey Beaufort and his brother Ernest
—two about as fine and elegant men as had
ever appeared at Dieppe—attracted all eyes;
and the scorn and contempt with which the
latter looked round on every one and everything
showed the true club man and man of
fashion, and was the real guarantee for their
elegance and respectability. Mrs. Beaufort, too,
—a pale graceful woman, with a shawl draped
about her—swept along on her husband's
arm, looking gently about, and the ladies of
the colony felt with an instinct that here
was a secret reserve—the reserve of true breeding
—which would keep them at a distance.
She had her little girl—a charming, elegant,
well brought up little thing—walking beside
her.

"You see them all now," said Mr. Blacker,
flourishing and doing the panorama-describer's part.
"Of course this is the public ground," he added,
to them, apologising for the mixture, "and it is
not considered anything, meeting in this way;
and of course it leads to nothing. By the way,
I see, coming down, some very fair, well-
conducted people—I mean the Harcourt Dacres,
one of the good Irish families. He's a very clever
fellow—in Cases, you know, he——Yes, I think
there would be no harm in——Dacres, a word
with you."

It was Mr. Dacres and his daughter, with Mr.
West, that were coming up. People who were
not too absorbed by the great excitement of the
evening had noticed the change in Mr. West's
face, and some one said "he looked twenty years
younger." He had indeed lost the reflective,
dry, almost dissatisfied look which was his
characteristic, and he seemed overflowing with
spirits and happiness, and indeed his own natural
age, if not some years younger. The new and
distinguished comers remarked him. "Oh,"
said the clergyman, waving him off, "one of the
set, you know. They keep up a sort of position
here, and all that; but a little unpleasant to
deal with. You understand me, Mrs. Beaufort?
You know all this sort of thing. Dacres,
one word." And he seized that gentleman by
the arm. "See here, Dacres." Then, in a
melodramatic whisper, he poured into his ear,
"Really charming people—first society. Mr.
Harcourt Dacres, Miss Dacres, let me introduce
Mr. Guernsey Beaufort."

This ceremony was watched by many eager
faces. Mr. Blacker was almost agitated as
he went through this chamberlain's function.
The parties then joined. Mrs. Beaufort looked
with interest towards Lucy, as indeed every one
did who met her. The fashionable lady's face
grew softer, and seemed, among all the false
countenances about her, to have lighted on
something that sympathised. The two in a moment
separated, and with the little girl walked
behind. Mr. Dacres was delighted. He loved
new faces and good people. His countenance
mantled with cordiality, and bonhomie seemed
to stream from his mouth. "Men of the world,
sir," he would say, "understand each other
instantly. You and I, Mr. Beaufort, put up with
all this, because it suits us. It's a poor place,
Heaven knows; but we run hither and thither
just as fashion bids us. You and I know how a
well-known marchioness will go into a cabin
we'd be ashamed to put our man-servant in, if
it's the right thing to do it. And I can tell you