In a few minutes Hanbury was beside him. "I
am so glad, Fermor," he said. "It is so long
since I have seen you."

"You come out to parties, it seems?" said
Fermor, with a half sneer.

"Not often," said Hanbury, sadly. "I never
cared for such things, as I dare say you recollect.
What has brought me here to-night was the hope
of meeting you. I had something to tell you.
Just come out here on the stairs."

"Why not here?" said Fermor, more and
more resenting the "Werner manner."

"I know," said John Hanbury, interpreting all
this, and coming back the little way he had gone,
"that I never succeeded in making myself a
friend of yours, and that by some unfortunate
mistake we never were as well known to each
other as we might have been. Something came
in the way. I did not understand you; very
likely you did not understand me. I know I am
rough, and have my faults. Perhaps, if we had
both tried sincerely to be more at one, a hundred
things might not have happened. But that is all
past."

Again this tone grated on Fermor. Had
Hanbury said merely that he could not understand
Fermor, and that if he had tried to do so, he could
not, it would have been more deferential.

"I never try to understand any man," said
Fermor, coldly. "It is too much trouble. I take
what is on the surface. But this business, as you
say—what do you wish me to do for you?"

John Hanbury shook his head, as though he
said, "You will not understand me. Very well:"
he said; "it is about yourself, Fermor. You
know there are not many things in life that I
have much interest in now. The Manuels and
their happiness is all I think of. What they love
and have loved, I care for. There was one,
Fermor, whom we knew, and whose dear memory
we cling to, and it is for her sake, and for the
sake of what I know were her last wishes, that I
now——"

"I don't know what object you have," said
Fermor, colouring, " in making these allusions, or
in bringing up this subject; but I must tell you
plainly I do not choose to discuss it."

"This is the way," said John Hanbury,
hopelessly. "I always say more than I mean, and I
know I am blunt and rough in approaching
subjects. But, Fermor, listen to me. I say I would
do anything for the Manuels. And you, Fermor,
do not see the world so much now—at least,
have not the opportunity of hearing what I can
hear. Do forgive me if I speak too plainly; but
it is indeed for your interest. I don't know how
to approach it, and I am sure you will not like
it, but I must speak. I know it would be her
wish. Mrs. Fermor is so gentle, so trustful,
so——"

"Now, Mr. Hanbury," said Fermor, his voice
trembling, "I must request that this subject
will not be pursued. You are, as you say, well
meaning, though unfortunate in your manner. I
don't want to hear about it. I don't want
advice from any man. I can manage my own
house. Everybody seems to think they can
lecture me about my own concerns; and I tell
you again, I don't require it."

"But you don't know the danger," said
Hanbury. " You don't see what is coming. I know
more than you think. It is my duty to warn
you, no matter how you may take it. That
Romaine, I tell you, is not the man to be so
intimate at your house, and you should look after
it. Forgive me, but every one is talking of it."

"Once more," said Fermor, excitedly, "I tell
you to stop this, Mr. Hanbury. I won't take it.
So you wish to be an adviser? You must excuse
me for saying that I shall not come to you for
assistance. Your counsels, as regards your own
interest, have not been so very successful."

"No, indeed," said he, sadly; "you are right.
But I must tell you this, at all risks. I know your
affairs. There is that Sir John Westende: he is a
dangerous man. You should go to him, and
conciliate him. Ask Lady Laura, and she will tell
you the same."

This was past endurance.

"You won't take a hint, Mr. Hanbury?" said
he, struggling to be calm. "Let me ask you, do
you wish to quarrel, or to hear something from
me that I should be sorry to have said?"

"O, you shall not quarrel with me," said
Hanbury, calmly, and turning away. "Nothing
that you could say," he added, solemnly, "shall
ever offend me. There are reasons why you
should be privileged. You seem blinded,
Fermor: you will not be guided; but I shall not
desist. I shall help you in spite of yourself."

The state he left Fermor in may be conceived.
He always felt agony under the sense of this air
of what he took for superior patronage.

He saw Romaine come over to Mrs. Fermor,
and pitch his chair close to hers, as it might be
a tent. She was in a corner, and Mr. Romaine's
tent quite cut her off from the company. He then
began to talk with great earnestness. Fermor's
falling on this new situation, and Fermor's
memory suggesting to him the stories the good-
natured friend had told him, the effect was as of
scarlet cloth tossed and shaken before him.

"Look at Orson," said Mr. Romaine, moodily,
"how he is glaring at us!"

Mrs. Fermor looked up innocently, but did not
see which face he meant.

"Orson?" she said; "whom do you call by
that ugly name?"

"Don't you see," he said, "your conjugal
Orson? You know what I mean."

Mrs. Fermor, colouring as she always did,
moved back her chair a little, and half rose.

"You can't mean that;" she said, "I am sure
not. At least, if you do, I must go to the person
you mention so disrespectfully."

"Exactly," he said, without moving. "Always
the way—every little idle word caught up and
registered. Why, I call every husband Orson.
What are they all but Orsons—brutes—
irreclaimable savages? What am I myself? And