CHAPTER XXX.

LOTHAIR returned to town in a not altogether satisfactory state of mind. He was not serene or content. On the contrary, he was rather agitated and perplexed. He could not say he regretted his visit. He had seen her, and he had seen her to great advantage. He had seen much too that was pleasing, and had heard also many things that, if not pleasing, were certainly full of interest. And yet, when he cantered back over the common, the world somehow did not seem to him so bright and exhilarating as in the ambling morn. Was it because she was not alone? yet why should he expect she should be alone? She had many friends, and she was as accessible to them as to himself. And yet a conversation with her, as in the

And

gardens of Blenheim, would have been delightful, and he had rather counted on it. Nevertheless, it was a great thing to know men like Mr. Phoebus, and hear their views on the nature of things. Lothair was very young, and was more thoughtful than studious. His education hitherto had been, according to Mr. Phœbus, on the right principle, and chiefly in the open air; but he was intelligent and susceptible, and in the atmosphere of Oxford, now stirred with many thoughts, he had imbibed some particles of knowledge respecting the primæval races which had permitted him to follow the conversation of Mr. Phoebus not absolutely in a state of hopeless perplexity. He determined to confer with Father Coleman on the Aryan race and the genius of Semitism. As he returned through the park, he observed the Duchess and Lady Corisande in their barouche, resting for a moment in the shade, with Lord Carisbrooke on one side and the Duke of Brecon on the other.

As he was dressing for dinner, constantly brooding on one thought, the cause of his feeling of disappointment occurred to him. He had hoped in this visit to have established some basis of intimacy, and to have ascertained his prospect and his means of occasionally seeing her. But he had done nothing of the kind. He could not well call again at Belmont under a week, but even then Mr. Phoebus or some one else might be there. The world seemed dark. He wished he had never gone to Oxford. However a man may plan his life he is the creature of circumstances. The unforeseen happens and upsets everything. We are mere puppets.

He sat next to an agreeable woman at dinner, who gave him an interesting account of a new singer she had heard the night before at the Opera-a fair Scandinavian, fresh as a lily and sweet as a nightingale.

'I was resolved to go and hear her,' said the lady; 'my sister Feodore, at Paris,

to me.

had written to me so much about her. Do you know, I have never been to the Opera for an age! That alone was quite a treat I never go to the Opera, nor to the play, nor to anything else. Society has become so large and so exacting, that I have found out one never gets any amusement."

'Do you know, I never know, I never was at the Opera,' said Lothair.

'I am not at all surprised; and when you go--which I suppose you will some day-what will most strike you is, that you will not see a single person you ever saw in your life.'

'Strange!

6 Yes; it shows what a mass of wealth and taste and refinement there is in this wonderful metropolis of ours, quite irrespective of the circles in which we move, and which we once thought entirely engrossed them.'

After the ladies had retired, Bertram, who dined at the same house, moved up to

him; and Hugo Bohun came over and took the vacant seat on his other side.

'What have you been doing with yourself?' said Hugo. We have not seen you for a week.'

'I went down to Oxford about some horses,' said Lothair.

'Fancy going down to Oxford about some horses in the heart of the season,' said Hugo. 'I believe you are selling us, and that, as the "Scorpion announces, you

are going to be married.'

'To whom?' said Lothair.

'Ah! that is the point. It is a dark horse at present, and we want you to tell us.'

Why do not you marry, Hugo?' said Bertram.

'I respect the institution,' said Hugo, 'which is admitting something in these days; and I have always thought that every woman should marry, and no man.'

'It makes a woman and it mars a man, you think?' said Lothair.