These latter are, I suppose, the detrimentals of whom Alice spoke. I like their clean, well-groomed looks much; they are the first "warriors bold" I ever saw, and they certainly seem to fulfil the whole duty of man, as understood by the youth of the present century, which is to be dressed to perfection and have the best possible manners compatible with the fewest possible ideas.
Talking to Alice is an ugly little fair man, who is looking at me through his eye-glass with attention, for do I not live near the rose?
Charles Lovelace, handsome as ever, a trifle steadier than he was on that terrible day when he ran away with Alice (and we wretched left-behinds were left to pay the piper), lounges beside my chair, giving me little historiettes of the people present.
Leaning against the mantel-piece is a rather tall, very dark man, with a perfectly handsome face, that does not give me the impression of being particularly sensible or wise. That is Silvia's lover. She seems to have a rare taste for dark men, but this one does not to me approach or touch the grander, more masculine good looks of that other, who could renounce his heart's desire rather than forfeit his own self-respect. How strong and kind he looked when he said "Good-bye" to me under the porch at the Manor House! How surprised he would be if he knew both Silvia and I are here! I wonder if he has ever seen her since that Sunday at Flytton? I wonder if he will ever see her again?
I look up and see Paul Vasher coming in at the open door. My heart seems to stop beating as he comes forward. Are my eyes playing me some trick? Am I dreaming? No; for he comes straight to my side after Milly has introduced him to Alice (apparently he has seen all the rest this afternoon), and holds out his hand with a quick look of gladness.
"I had no idea I should see you here, or that you were Mrs.
