“No, or I should have told you when I read the program this evening.  The young villain pretended that his name was Marmaduke Sharp.”

“Ah!  The name reminds me of one of his cousins, a little spitfire that snaps at every one who presumes to talk to her.”

“His cousins!  Oh, of course; you met them at the concert.  What are they like?  Are they swells?”

“Yes, they seem to be.  There were only two cousins, Miss McQuinch and a young woman named Marian, blonde and rather good looking.  There was a brother of hers there, but he is only a parson, and a tall fellow named Douglas, who made rather a fool of himself.  I could not make him out exactly.”

“Did they snub you?”

“I dont know.  Probably they tried.  Are you intimate with many of our young nobility under assumed names?”

“Steal a few more marches to the Bijou, and perhaps you will find out.”

“Good-night!  Pardon my abrupt departure, but you are not the very sweetest of Susannas to-night.”

“Oh, good-night.”

“By the bye,” said Conolly, returning, “this must be the Mr. Duke Lind who is going to marry Lady Constance Carbury, my noble pupil’s sister.”

“I am sure it matters very little whom he marries.”

“If he will pay us a visit here, and witness the working of perfect frankness without affection, and perfect liberty without refinement, he may find reason to conclude that it matters a good deal.  Good-night.”

CHAPTER II

Marian Lind lived at Westbourne Terrace, Paddington, with her father, the fourth son of a younger brother of the Earl of Carbury.  Mr. Reginald Harrington Lind, at the outset of his career, had no object in life except that of getting through it as easily as possible; and this he understood so little how to achieve that he suffered himself to be married at the age of nineteen to a Lancashire cotton spinner’s heiress.  She bore him three children, and then eloped with a professor of spiritualism, who deserted her on the eve of her fourth confinement, in the course of which she caught scarlet fever and died.  Her child survived, but was sent to a baby farm and starved to death in the usual manner.  Her husband, disgusted by her behavior (for she had been introduced by him to many noblemen and gentlemen, his personal friends, some one at least of whom, on the slightest encouragement, would, he felt sure, have taken the place of the foreign charlatan she had disgraced him by preferring), consoled himself for her bad taste by entering into her possessions, which comprised a quantity of new jewellery, new lace, and feminine apparel, and an income of nearly seven thousand pounds a year.  After this, he became so welcome in society that he could have boasted with truth at the end of any July that there were few marriageable gentlewomen of twenty-six and upward in London who had not been submitted to his inspection with a view