And taking that nobleman's arm, she walked off with a mournful
pleading look at her late companion, which poor Dick Stanmore would
have given worlds to have seen directed to himself.

There was no more pleasure for him now during the rest of the
entertainment. He did indeed obtain a momentary distraction from his
resolution to ascertain the name of the person who had so spoilt his
afternoon. It helped him very little to be told the gentleman was "a
Mr. Ryfe." Nobody seemed to know any more, and even this information
he extracted with difficulty from Lady Goldthred, who added, in a tone
of astonishment--

"Why, you brought him, didn't you?"

Dick was mystified--worse, he was unhappy. For a few minutes he
wandered about behind the dancers, watching Maud and her partner as
they threaded the intricacies of those exceedingly puzzling evolutions
which constitute the Lancer quadrilles. Lord Bearwarden was obviously
delighted with Maud, and that young lady seemed by no means
unconscious or careless of her partner's approval. I do not myself
consider the measure they were engaged in threading as particularly
conducive to the interchange of sentiment. If my memory serves me
right, this complicated dance demands as close an attention as whist,
and affords almost as few opportunities of communicating with a
partner. Nevertheless, there is a language of the eyes, as of the
lips; and it was not Lord Bearwarden's fault if his looks were
misunderstood by their object. All this Dick saw, and seeing, grew
more and more disgusted with life in general, with Lady Goldthred's
breakfast in particular. When the dance ended, and Dick