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horse near the rails, upon which the two gentlemen who had raised their hats were leaning.

      One of them, Leicester Dodson, we know, the other was a tall, splendidly built fellow, with a frank, genial face, and a noble yet peculiarly free and graceful bearing.

      "Hello, Bertie! Good-morning, Mr. Dodson. Delighted to see you. Ethel, you will let me introduce my friends, Mr. Dodson, Mr. Bertie Fairfax. Bertie, Mr. Dodson, this is my sister, Lady Ethel Boisdale."

      Both the gentlemen raised their hats; Lady Ethel bent her beautiful head with her rare smile.

      She always liked to know any friends of her brother whom he chose to introduce, for with all his simplicity he was too wise to fall into the mistake of showing her any but the most unexceptionable of them.

      Bertie Fairfax looked up at the lady and then at the horse. He was a connoisseur of both.

      "It is a beautiful day," he said, opening the conversation with the usual weatherwise remark. "Your horse looks as if he enjoyed it."

      "Which he does," said Ethel. "I am sure I do. It is delightful – walking or riding."

      "I should prefer the latter," said Bertie Fairfax, "but my horse is lamed temporarily and I am compelled to pedestrianize."

      "What a pity," said Ethel, adding, with her sweet smile, "Perhaps the change will be good for you."

      Bertie Fairfax looked up at her with his frank eyes to see if she was quizzing him, then laughed musically.

      "Perhaps he thought so and tumbled down on purpose. It doesn't much matter – I like walking, but not here; I like more room. My friend, Mr. Dodson, however, insisted upon this promenade. He is an observer of human nature – a cynic, I regret to say – and finds material for bitter and scornful reflection in the gay and thoughtless crowd. Are you going to Lady Darefield's ball to-night?"

      "Yes," said Ethel. "I presume you, also, by your question, are going?"

      "Yes," said Bertie Fairfax, "I am glad to say."

      Five minutes before he had sworn to Mr. Leicester Dodson that he wouldn't go to my Lady Darefield's ball for five hundred pounds, and five hundreds pounds were of some consequence to Mr. Bertie Fairfax.

      "It is very hot for balls, but one must do his duty. I hope I may be able to persuade you to give me a dance?"

      "I don't know," said Ethel, with a smile.

      At that moment her horse walked on a little. Mr. Fairfax moved farther up the rail, and then conversation, no more confidential than that we have already given, continued until Lord Fitz was heard to exclaim "Good-by," and then joined his sister.

      Both the gentlemen on foot raised their hats, Bertie Fairfax with his cordial, pleasant smile, Leicester Dodson with his grave and also pleasant grace, and after a return of the salutations the four young people parted.

      "Well," said Lord Fitz, from whose mind the recent meeting had expunged the unpleasant remembrances of his morning interview, "what do you think of them?"

      Ethel was silent for a moment.

      "I don't know which was the handsomer," she said, thoughtfully.

      "That's just like you women, Eth; you always think of the graces first."

      "Well," said Ethel, "there was no time to know anything more about them. I think Mr. Fairfax is very pleasant – he has a nice voice and such frank eyes. There are some men with whom you feel friendly in the first ten minutes; he is one of them."

      "You're right," said Lord Fitz. "Bertie's the jolliest and dearest old fellow going. Poor old Bert!"

      "Why poor?" said Ethel.

      "Because he is poor, deuced poor," said Lord Fitz, muttering under his breath, with a sigh, "Like some more of us."

      "How do you mean?" said Ethel.

      "Well," said Lord Fitz, "he has to work for his living. He's a barrister or something of that sort. But he writes and draws things for books, you know. I don't quite understand. He can sing like a nightingale and tell a story better than any man I know."

      "He looks very happy," said Ethel, "although he is poor."

      "Happy!" said Lord Fitz. "He's always happy. He's the best company going."

      "And who is his friend? Mr. Dodson, is not his name?" asked Ethel.

      "Yes, Leicester Dodson," said Lord Fitz. "He's one of your clever men. You can't understand whether he's serious or joking sometimes, and I've often thought he was making fun of me, only – "

      "Only what?" asked his sister.

      "Only I didn't think he'd have the impudence," said Lord Fitz, proudly. "It isn't nice to be sneered at by a tallow chandler."

      "A what?" said Ethel.

      "Well, the son of a tallow chandler. That's what his father was. A nice, quiet old boy. Haven't you heard of 'em? They live at Penruddie, which is about nine miles from that shooting box in Herefordshire – Coombe Lodge."

      "So near," said Ethel. "No, I had not heard of him. He looks to be a gentleman, but I did not notice him very much. I like his friend's face best, yes, I am sure I do, though both the faces were nice."

      "You don't take into account Leicester Dodson's coin," said Lord Fitz. "His people are immensely rich; tallow turns into gold, you know, if you only melt it long enough."

      "That's a joke or a pun, Fitz," laughed Lady Ethel. "And really rather clever for you. And where does Mr. Fairfax live?"

      "Oh, in chambers in the Temple – quite the clever bachelor, you know. Very snug they are, too, much more comfortable than any of the places. He gives good dinners sometimes – when he's in luck, as he calls it. Eth, you ought to have been a man, then you could have known some jolly good fellows."

      "Thank you, if I were not on horseback I'd curtsey," said Ethel. "Can't I know good fellows as I am?"

      "No," said simple Lord Fitz, "you can't! They won't let you; it's dangerous. You must only know men with long handles to their names like ours, and with their pockets full of money – unlike ours. You mustn't know Bertie Fairfax, for instance. The mother wouldn't allow it."

      At that moment Ethel's horse started – his rider had, in reality, touched him with a spur – and got in front of Lord Fitz, so that the blush which suddenly crimsoned Ethel's beautiful face was hidden from her brother's light blue eyes.

      Now, why should Lady Ethel Boisdale blush at the simple little speech of Lord Fitz? It could be of little consequence to her, surely, if her eyes were fated never to rest on Mr. Bertie Fairfax again. Why did she blush, and why, during the remainder of that park gallop, did she look forward to Lady Darefield's little ball?

      "Well," said Leicester, as the two equestrians rode away, and left the pedestrians looking after them, "what do you think of the Lady Ethel Boisdale? You have been wrapped in a silence unusual and remarkable for the last three minutes; unusual because on such occasions as the present you generally indulge in a rhapsody of admiration, or a deluge of candid abuse, extraordinary because silence at any time is extraordinary in you."

      "Hold your tongue, you cynical fellow," exclaimed Bertie, still looking after the brother and sister. "So that is the sister of whom simple Fitz is always talking – Lady Ethel! A pretty name, and it suits her. An Ethel should be dark, or at least brown shadowed; an Ethel should have deep, thoughtful eyes, a pleasant, rather dreamy smile, and a touch of hauteur over face, figure, and voice. She has all these – "

      "And fifty more virtues, attributes, and peculiarities which your confounded imagination can endow her with! Nonsense! She's a nice-looking girl, with a sensible face, and the pride proper for her station. You can't make anything more of her."

      "Can't I?" said his friend; "you can't, you mean. I call her beautiful. She is going to Lady Darefield's ball to-night; I – I shall go, after all, I think, Leicester."

      "I thought so," said Leicester Dodson, with a smile of ineffable wisdom and sagacity. "I thought somebody said they wouldn't go to the confounded ball for five hundred pounds, and that the same somebody was pitying me for having

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