where Daxrell really liked, he had much sweet forbearance, and where he
was indifferent much stately courtesy, yet, when he was offended, he
could be extremely uncivil. "Sir," he cried almost stamping his foot,
"your importunities annoy me I request you to cease them."

"Oh, I ask your pardon," said Mr. Poole, with an angry growl. "I have no
need to force myself on any man. But I beg you to believe that if I
presumed to seek your acquaintance, it was to do you a service sir--yes,
a private service, sir." He lowered his voice into a whisper, and laid
his finger on his nose: "There's one Jasper Losely, sir--eh? Oh, sir,
I'm no mischief-maker. I respect family secrets. Perhaps I might be of
use, perhaps not."

"Certainly not to me, sir," said Darrell, flinging the cloak he had now
found across his shoulders, and striding from the house. When he entered
his carriage, the footman stood waiting for orders. Darrell was long in
giving them. "Anywhere for half an hour--to St. Paul's, then home."
But on returning from this objectless plunge into the City, Darrell
pulled the check-string: "To Belgrave Square--Lady Dulcett's."

The concert was half over; but Flora Vyvyan had still guarded, as she had
promised, a seat beside herself for Darrell, by lending it for the
present to one of her obedient vassals. Her face brightened as she saw
Darrell enter and approach. The vassal surrendered the chair. Darrell
appeared to be in the highest spirits; and I firmly believe that he was
striving to the utmost in his power--what? to make himself agreeable to
Flora Vyvyan? No; to make Flora Vyvyan agreeable to himself. The man
did not presume that a fair young lady could be in love with him; perhaps
he believed that, at his years, to be impossible. But he asked what
seemed much easier, and was much harder--he asked to be himself in love.