“Sconey, my boy, I’m afraid you’re getting demoralized.  Why, I remember the time when you regarded the whole female race with a lofty scorn and a profound indifference that was a perpetual rebuke to more inflammable natures.  But now what a change!  Here you are, with a finely developed eye for female beauty, actually reveling in dreams of child-angels and their sisters.  By Jove!”

“Nonsense,” said Dacres.

“Well, drive on, and tell all about it.  You’ve seen her, of course?”

“Oh yes.”

“Did you call?”

“Yes; she was not at home.  I went away with a snubbed and subdued feeling, and rode along near the Villa Reale, when suddenly I met the carriage with Lady Dalrymple and the child-angel.  She knew me at once, and gave a little start.  Then she looked awfully embarrassed.  Then she turned to Lady Dalrymple; and by the time I had got up the carriage had stopped, and the ladies both looked at me and bowed.  I went up, and they both held out their hands.  Lady Dalrymple then made some remarks expressive of gratitude, while the child-angel sat and fastened her wonderful eyes on me, and threw at me such a pleading, touching, entreating, piteous, grateful, beseeching look, that I fairly collapsed.

“When Lady Dalrymple stopped, she turned to her and said: 

“’And oh, aunty darling, did you ever hear of any thing like it?  It was so brave.  Wasn’t it an awfully plucky thing to do, now?  And I was really inside the crater!  I’m sure I never could have done such a thing—­no, not even for my own papa!  Oh, how I do wish I could do something to show how awfully grateful I am!  And, aunty darling, I do wish you’d tell me what to do.’

“All this quite turned my head, and I couldn’t say any thing; but sat on my saddle, devouring the little thing with my eyes, and drinking in the wonderful look which she threw at me.  At last the carriage started, and the ladies, with a pleasant smile, drove on.  I think I stood still there for about five minutes, until I was nearly run down by one of those beastly Neapolitan caleches loaded with twenty or thirty natives.”

“See here, old man, what a confoundedly good memory you have!  You remember no end of a lot of things, and give all her speeches verbatim.  What a capital newspaper reporter you’d make!”

“Oh, it’s only her words, you know.  She quickens my memory, and makes a different man of me.”

“By Jove!”

“Yes, old chap, a different man altogether.”

“So I say, by Jove!  Head turned, eyes distorted, heart generally upset, circulation brought up to fever point, peace of mind gone, and a general mania in the place of the old self-reliance and content.”

“Not content, old boy; I never had much of that.”

“Well, we won’t argue, will we?  But as to the child-angel—­what next?  You’ll call again?”