In the morning she was heavily asleep.  Victor left word with Nesta, that the dear mother was not to be disturbed.  Consequently, when Dudley called to see Mrs. Victor Radnor, he was informed that Miss Radnor would receive him.

Their interview lasted an hour.

Dudley came to Victor in the City about luncheon time.

His perplexity of countenance was eloquent.  He had, before seeing the young lady, digested an immense deal more, as it seemed to him, than any English gentleman should be asked to consume.  She now referred him to her father, who had spent a day in Brighton, and would, she said, explain whatever there was to be explained.  But she added, that if she was expected to abandon a friend, she could not.  Dudley had argued with her upon the nature of friendship, the measurement of its various dues; he had lectured on the choice of friends, the impossibility for young ladies, necessarily inexperienced, to distinguish the right class of friends, the dangers they ran in selecting friends unwarranted by the stamp of honourable families.

‘And what did Fredi say to that?’ Victor inquired.

’Miss Radnor said—­I may be dense, I cannot comprehend—­that the precepts were suitable for seminaries of Pharisees.  When it is a question of a young lady associating with a notorious woman!’

’Not notorious.  You spoil your case if you “speak extremely,” as a friend says.  I saw her yesterday.  She worships “Miss Radnor."’

Nesta will know when she is older; she will thank me,’ said Dudley hurriedly.  ’As it is at present, I may reckon, I hope, that the association ceases.  Her name:  I have to consider my family.’

’Good anchorage!  You must fight it out with the girl.  And depend upon this—­you’re not the poorer for being the husband of a girl of character; unless you try to bridle her.  She belongs to her time.  I don’t mind owning to you, she has given me a lead.—­Fredi ’ll be merry to-night.  Here’s a letter I have from the Sanfredini, dated Milan, fresh this morning; invitation to bring the god-child to her villa on Como in May; desirous to embrace her.  She wrote to the office.  Not a word of her duque.  She has pitched him to the winds.  You may like to carry it off to Fredi and please her.’

‘I have business,’ Dudley replied.

‘Away to it, then!’ said Victor.  ’You stand by me?—­we expect our South London borough to be open in January; early next year, at least; may be February.  You have family interest there.’

‘Personally, I will do my best,’ Dudley said; and he escaped, feeling, with the universal censor’s angry spite, that the revolutions of the world had made one of the wealthiest of City men the head of a set of Bohemians.  And there are eulogists of the modern time!  And the man’s daughter was declared to belong to it!  A visit in May to the Italian cantatrice separated from her husband, would render the maiden an accomplished flinger of caps over the windmills.