286 The Real Charlotte. 



Mr. Hawkins, even though in so doing she violated her own 

 cherished regulations on the subject of slang. All her old 

 partiality for him had revived since Francie's departure from 

 Lismoyle, and she found the idea of his engagement far 

 more amusing than he did. 



" No, Lady Dysart, they never do," said Hawkins, getting 

 very red, and feebly trying to rise to the occasion ; " they're 

 always very nice and kind to me." 



*' Oh, I daresay they are ! " replied Lady Dysart archly, 

 with a glance at Pamela like that of a naughty child who 

 glories in its naughtiness. *' And is it fair to ask when the 

 wedding is to come off? We heard something about the 

 spring ! " 



" Who gave you that interesting piece of news ? " said 

 Hawkins, trying not to look foolish. 



*^ A bridesmaid," said Lady Dysart, closing her lips 

 tightly, and leaning back with an irrepressible gleam in hei 

 eye. 



" Well, she knows more than I do. All I know about it 

 is, that I believe the regiment goes to Aldershot in May, 

 and I suppose it will be some time after that." Mr. 

 Hawkins spoke with a singularly bad grace, and before 

 further comment could be made he turned to Pamela. " I 

 saw a good deal of Miss Hope-Drummond in the north," he 

 said, with an effort so obvious and so futile at turning the 

 conversation that Lady Dysart began to laugh. 



" Why, she was the bridesmaid — " she began incauti- 

 ously, when the slackening of the engines set her thoughts 

 flying from the subject in hand to settle in agony upon the 

 certainty that Doyle would forget to put her scent-bcttle 

 into her dressing-bag, and then the whole party went up on 

 deck. 



It was dark, and the revolving light on the end of the 

 east pier swung its red eye upon the steamer as she passed 

 within a few yards of it, churning a curving road towards 

 the double line of lamps that marked the jetty. The lights' 

 of Kingstown mounted row upon row, like an embattled 

 army of stars, the great sweep of Dublin Bay was pricked 

 out in lessening yellow points, and a new moon that looked 

 pale green by contrast, sent an immature shaft along the sea 

 in meek assertion of her presence. The paddles dropped 



