“Have you?” inquired the cunning one.

“My belief is, Brayder, that there are angels among women,” said Mountfalcon, evading his parasite’s eye as he spoke.

To the world, Lord Mountfalcon was the thoroughly wicked man; his parasite simply ingeniously dissipated.  Full many a man of God had thought it the easier task to reclaim the Hon. Peter.

Lucy received her noble friend by firelight that evening, and sat much in the shade.  She offered to have the candles brought in.  He begged her to allow the room to remain as it was.  “I have something to say to you,” he observed with a certain solemnity.

“Yes—­to me?” said Lucy, quickly.

Lord Mountfalcon knew he had a great deal to say, but how to say it, and what it exactly was, he did not know.’

“You conceal it admirably,” he began, “but you must be very lonely here—­I fear, unhappy.”

“I should have been lonely, but for your kindness, my lord,” said Lucy.  “I am not unhappy.”  Her face was in shade and could not belie her.

“Is there any help that one who would really be your friend might give you, Mrs. Feverel?”

“None indeed that I know of,” Lucy replied.  “Who can help us to pay for our sins?”

“At least you may permit me to endeavour to pay my debts, since you have helped me to wash out some of any sins.”

“Ah, my lord!” said Lucy, not displeased.  It is sweet for a woman to believe she has drawn the serpent’s teeth.

“I tell you the truth,” Lord Mountfalcon went on.  “What object could I have in deceiving you?  I know you quite above flattery—­so different from other women!”

“Oh, pray, do not say that,” interposed Lucy.

“According to my experience, then.”

“But you say you have met such—­such very bad women.”

“I have.  And now that I meet a good one, it is my misfortune.”

“Your misfortune, Lord Mountfalcon?”

“Yes, and I might say more.”

His lordship held impressively mute.

“How strange men are!” thought Lucy.  “He had some unhappy secret.”

Tom Bakewell, who had a habit of coming into the room on various pretences during the nobleman’s visits, put a stop to the revelation, if his lordship intended to make any.

When they were alone again, Lucy said, smiling:  “Do you know, I am always ashamed to ask you to begin to read.”

Mountfalcon stared.  “To read?—­oh! ha! yes!” he remembered his evening duties.  “Very happy, I’m sure.  Let me see.  Where were we?”

“The life of the Emperor Julian.  But indeed I feel quite ashamed to ask you to read, my lord.  It’s new to me; like a new world—­hearing about Emperors, and armies, and things that really have been on the earth we walk upon.  It fills my mind.  But it must have ceased to interest you, and I was thinking that I would not tease you any more.”

“Your pleasure is mine, Mrs. Feverel.  ’Pon my honour, I’d read till I was hoarse, to hear your remarks.”