bespoke the chivalry that pervaded all the complexities and curves of his
character. It was affectionate, but respectful,--hers to him, subdued,
but innocently sweet and gently cordial. Harley was the chief talker.
The aspect of the times was so critical that he could not avoid questions
on politics; and, indeed, he showed an interest in them which he had
never evinced before. Lord Lansmere was delighted.

"Why, Harley, you love your country after all?"

"The moment she seems in danger, yes!" replied the Patrician; and the
Sybarite seemed to rise into the Athenian. Then he asked with eagerness
about his old friend Audley; and, his curiosity satisfied there, he
inquired the last literary news. He had heard much of a book lately
published. He named the one ascribed by Parson Dale to Professor Moss;
none of his listeners had read it.

Harley pished at this, and accused them all of indolence and stupidity,
in his own quaint, metaphorical style. Then he said, "And town gossip?"

"We never hear it," said Lady Lansmere.

"There is a new plough much talked of at Boodle's," said Lord Lansmere.

"God speed it. But is not there a new man much talked of at White's?"

"I don't belong to White's."

"Nevertheless, you may have heard of him,--a foreigner, a Count di
Peschiera."