Mostyn raised his glass and looked at the box. His gaze was steadfast
for some minutes, then he gave utterance to a prolonged sigh.

"That will do," he said to himself.

Like the diplomatist that he was, Colonel Mostyn said never a word, but
when the act was ended, he turned to Basil.

"I see a lady, an old friend of mine, and I am going to spend a few
minutes with her."

He went to the box, and had the satisfaction of seeing that Basil never
removed his glass. When he returned to his own seat, the heir of
Ulverston said, somewhat eagerly:

"Who is that lady, colonel, with whom you have been speaking?"

"My dear boy," he replied, "one chignon is just like another; which do
you mean?"

"There is no chignon in this case. I mean the lady with whom you have
been speaking."

"That is Lady Amelie Lisle," he replied, briefly.

"Amelie Lisle!" repeated Basil; "but who is she?"

"If you wish to know her pedigree, you must consult Burke's Peerage. I
can only remember that she is the daughter of Lord Grayson, who married
a French duchess, and rumor says she is the loveliest and most