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'Forestfield is a cool cynical sensualist, the type of a race very common in the present day, who is always very quiet and apparently unimpassioned, and yet I believe that a wickeder little wretch does not walk.'

'He doesn't treat his wife well, then?'

'My dear fellow, no one treats his wife well nowadays; it isn't the fashion. I suppose, if anything, Forestfield may be looked upon as rather an exemplary person, as he doesn't care to beat his wife or afficher his infidelities as many of these youths do; but he is notoriously unfaithful for all that, and I have sometimes seen my lady looking very sad indeed.'

'She cares for him, then?'

'She--well, she did; most people would say she does--but I have my own ideas on that point.'

'Poor child!' said Uffington, with a sigh; then added quickly, 'Who is that just come into the box?'

Tom Lydyeard looked up, and saw a gentlemanly-looking young man, with fair curling hair, fresh complexion, blue eyes, and white teeth, talking to Lady Forestfield's companion, the Duchess of Melrose.