We were in the Park--Lady Roseville passed us--we both bowed to her; as
she returned our greeting, I was struck with the deep and sudden blush
which overspread her countenance. "Can that be for me?" thought I. I
looked towards Glanville: his countenance had recovered its serenity, and
was settled into its usual proud, but not displeasing, calmness of
expression.

"Do you know Lady Roseville well?" said I. "Very," answered Glanville,
laconically, and changed the conversation. As we were leaving the Park,
through Cumberland Gate, we were stopped by a blockade of carriages; a
voice, loud, harsh, and vulgarly accented, called out to Glanville by his
name. I turned, and saw Thornton.

"For God's sake, Pelham, drive on," cried Glanville; "let me, for once,
escape that atrocious plebeian."

Thornton was crossing the road towards us; I waved my hand to him civilly
enough (for I never cut any body), and drove rapidly through the other
gate, without appearing to notice his design of speaking to us.

"Thank Heaven!" said Glanville, and sunk back in a reverie, from which I
could not awaken him, till he was set down at his own door.

When I returned to Mivart's, I found a card from Lord Dawton, and a
letter from my mother.

"My Dear Henry, (began the letter,)

"Lord Dawton having kindly promised to call upon you, personally, with