The Vicomte de Gars was a little man, with long wristbands.  Miss Tayleure described him as all eye-glass and shirt-front.  Comic artists have often drawn the moon capering on spider-legs; a little filling out would make the Vicomte very like the caricature.  He was profound—­in his salutations, learned—­in lace, witty—­thanks to the Figaro.  His attentions to Miss Theodosia Cockayne, and to Madame her mother, were of the most splendid and elaborate description.  He left flowers for the young lady early in the morning.

It was very provoking that Theodosia had consented to be betrothed to John Catt of Peckham.

“Carrie, my dear,” Mrs. Cockayne observed, having called her daughter to her bedroom for a good lecture, “once for all, I WILL NOT have you on such intimate terms with the people of the house.  What on earth can you be thinking about?  I should have thought you would show more pride.  I am quite sure the Vicomte saw you yesterday when you were sitting quite familiarly with Miss Rowe in the bureau.  I WILL NOT have it.”

“Mamma dear, Lucy Rowe is one of the most sensible and, at the same time, best informed girls I ever knew; and her sentiments are everything that could be desired.”

“I will not be answered, Carrie; mind that.  I wonder you haven’t more pride.  A chit like that, who keeps the hotel books, and gives out the sugar.”

“Her father was——­”

“Never mind what her father was.  What is she?  I wonder you don’t propose to ask her home on a visit.”

“She would not disgrace——­”

This was too much for Mrs. Cockayne.  She stamped her foot, and bore down upon Carrie with a torrent of reasons why Miss Rowe should be held at a distance.

“You wouldn’t find Theodosia behaving in such a manner.  She understands what’s becoming.  I dare say she’s not so clever as you are——­”

“Dear mamma, this is cruel——­”

“Don’t interrupt me.  No, no; I see through most things.  This Miss Howe is always reading.  I saw her just now with some novel, I’ve no doubt, which she shouldn’t read——­”

“It was Kingsley’s——­”

“Hold your tongue, child.  Yes, reading, and with a pen stuck behind her ear.”

“She’s so very lonely:  and Mrs. Howe is so very severe with her.”

“I have no doubt it’s quite necessary; there, go and dress for the table d’hote, and mind what I say.”

Poor Lucy wondered what on earth could have happened that Carrie Cockayne avoided her:  and what those furtive nods of the head and stolen smiles at her could mean?  On the other hand, how had she offended Mrs. Cockayne?  Happily, Mrs. Rowe was on Lucy’s side; for it had pleased Mrs. Cockayne to show her social superiority by extravagant coldness and formality whenever she had occasion to address “the landlady.”  One thing Mrs. Cockayne admitted she could NOT understand—­viz., Why Jane the servant took so much upon herself with her mistress; and what all the mystery was about a Mr. Charles, who seemed to be a dark shadow, kept somewhere as far as possible in the background of the house.