Our hero, who wished never to be nice over much, or serious out of
season, laughed with those that laughed, and endeavoured to catch the
spirit of the jest. But Sir James Brooke, who now was well acquainted
with his countenance, and who knew something of the history of his
family, understood his real feelings, and, sympathizing in them,
endeavoured to give the conversation a new turn.

"Look there, Bowles," said he, as they were just riding into the town
of Bray; "look at the barouche standing at that green door, at the
farthest end of the town. Is not that Lady Dashfort's barouche?"

"It looks like what she sported in Dublin last year," said Bowles;
"but you don't think she'd give us the same two seasons. Besides, she
is not in Ireland, is she? I did not hear of her intending to come
over again."

"I beg your pardon," said another officer; "she will come again to
so good a market, to marry her other daughter. I hear she said or
swore that she will marry the young widow, Lady Isabel, to an Irish
nobleman."

"Whatever she says, she swears, and whatever she swears, she'll do,"
replied Bowles.

"Have a care, my Lord Colambre; if she sets her heart upon you for
Lady Isabel, she has you. Nothing can save you. Heart she has none,
so there you're safe, my lord," said the other officer; "but if Lady
Isabel sets her eye upon you, no basilisk's is surer."

"But if Lady Dashfort had landed I am sure we should have heard of it,