When Gilbert Lloyd satisfied himself that the new opera-singer, at whose most successful debut he had "assisted," was none other than his wife, the momentary agitation which had so shaken him passed away, and he sat himself down at the back of Lady Carabas' box--not in the chair usually reserved for the controller for the time being of the Soul, but in a more retired position--and gave himself up, as any uninterested auditor might have done, to listening to the singing. He had never been particularly fond of music, and though he had always known that his wife possessed a fine voice, and had even at one time taken into consideration the probable profits which would accrue were he to exploiter her musical talent, he had never imagined the possibility of her taking such a position as that in which he now found her. Gilbert Lloyd was a man who believed thoroughly in the truth of that axiom which tells us that "there is a time for everything;" it would be quite time enough for him to analyse the new light which had been let into his life, to weigh and balance the pros and cons connected with the appearance of Gertrude on a scene which he was accustomed to tread, mixed up with people with whom he was to a certain extent familiar; it would be time enough for him to enter into those business details on the next morning, when his brain would be fresh and clear, and he would be recruited by his night's rest, and able more clearly to see his way, and arrive at a more accurate decision as to the advisability of steps to be taken. Meanwhile, he would listen with the rest; and he did listen, with great pleasure, joining heartily in the applause, and delighting Lady Carabas by the warmth of his outspoken admiration of her favourite. And he escorted her ladyship to her carriage, and went to the club, and played half-a-dozen rubbers with admirable coolness and self-possession. It was one of Gilbert Lloyd's strongest points that he could put aside anything unpleasant that might be pressing upon him, no matter how urgently, and defer it for future consideration. In the midst of trouble of all kinds--pecuniary complications, turf anxieties, on the issue of which his position in life depended--he would, after looking at them vigorously with all his power, turn into bed and sleep as calmly as though his mind were entirely free, rising the next morning with renewed health and courage to tackle the difficulties again. Just at this period of Miss Lambert's début, Lloyd happened to be particularly busy; the Derby--on which he and his party were even more than usually interested--was close at hand, and all Gilbert's time was absorbed in "squaring" Lord Ticehurst's book and his own. But he knew that he need be under no alarm from the new element in his life which had just cropped out: though he had seen Gertrude, she had not seen him; there was no reason as yet--why they should be thrown together; and even if they were, he was too fully aware of her coldness and her pride to imagine she would for an instant attempt to thrust herself upon him, or even acknowledge him. So Gilbert Lloyd made no difference in his life, beyond noting the name under which his wife was charming the public, and paying attention whenever that name was pronounced in his presence. He heard all that--as we know--people said about her; but as that all was praise of her public performance, and astonishment at the quietude of her private life, it caused him very little emotion, and that little of no pleasurable kind.  
It was the intervening week between Epsom and Ascot, and the season was at its height. The Ticehurst party, thanks to the astute generalship of Gilbert Lloyd, had pulled through the Derby very well. Lord Ticehurst's horse had not won--no one had ever imagined that possible--but it had been brought up to such a position in the betting as to secure the money for the stable, and save its owner's credit with the public. Matters for the future looked promising. To be sure, Lord Ticehurst had not taken so much interest of late in his turf speculations; but that did not particularly affect Mr. Lloyd. So long as his patron kept up his stud, and left the entire management of everything to him, that gentleman was content. It was not unnatural that a man of Lord Ticehurst's youth and health and position should wish to enjoy himself in society; and Gilbert rather encouraged his pupil's new notions on this point. It was not that Orson was endowed with reason, but rather that Orson had found out some jeux innocens for himself, of which he did not require his keeper's constant supervision.
 
One morning in the above-named week, Gilbert Lloyd was sitting in his own room in Lord Ticehurst's bachelor-house in Hill-street. It was a pleasant room on the first floor, and was furnished in a manner half-substantial and half-pretty. The large oak writing-table in the centre, the two or three japanned deed-boxes on the floor, the handful of auctioneers' bills pinned to the wall, announcing property to be disposed of at forthcoming sales--all these looked like business; but they were diametrically contradicted by the cigar-boxes, the pipe-rack, the Reynolds proofs, and the Pompeian photographs on the walls; the ivory statuettes and the china monsters on the chimney-piece; the deer-skins and the tiger-skins, the heavy bronzes, the velvet portières, and the luxurious chairs and ottomans; all of which indicated the possession of good taste and the means of gratifying it. Gilbert Lloyd had chosen these rooms--his bedchamber adjoined his sitting-room--when the ménage was first transplanted to Hill-street from Limmer's--where, during the reign of Plater Dobbs, Lord Ticehurst had resided--and had kept them ever since. He had chosen them because they were pleasant and airy, and so far out of the way, that the ribald friends of the real proprietor--who were dropping into their companion's rooms on the ground-floor at all hours of the day and night--never thought of ascending to them. Trainers and jockeys made their way up the stairs with much muttered cursing, hating the ascent, which was troublesome to their short legs, and hating the business which brought them there; for Mr. Lloyd had a sharp tongue, and knew how to use it; and if his orders were not carried out to the letter, so much the worse for those who had to obey them. And latterly, a different class of visitors found their way to Gilbert's room, demure attorneys and portly land-agents; for Mr. Lloyd was now recognised as Lord Ticehurst's factotum; and all matters connected with the estates, whether as regards sale, purchase, or mortgage, passed through his hands.
 
It was twelve o'clock in the day, and Gilbert was seated at the oak writing-table. A banker's pass-book lay open at his right hand, and he was busied with calculations on a paper before him, when there was a knock at the door, and upon the cry "come in," Lord Ticehurst entered the room. Gilbert looked up from his writing, and on seeing who was his visitor, gave a short laugh.
 
"Won't you send up a servant with your name, next time?" said he; "the idea of a man knocking at a door in his own house--at least, when that isn't the door of his wife's room! Then, I've heard it's advisable to knock or cough outside, or something of that sort, just to keep all straight, you know!"
 
"Funny dog!" said Lord Ticehurst, indolently dropping into an easy-chair and puffing at his cigar. "How are you?"
 
"Well, but worried," answered Gilbert.
 
"That goes without saying," said his lordship; "you always are worried, or you would never be well!"
 
"Look here, Etchingham," exclaimed Gilbert Lloyd, with a mock air of intense interest, "you mustn't do this, 'pon my soul you mustn't, or you'll hurt yourself. I've noticed lately a distinct tendency on your part to be epigrammatic; you weren't intended for it, and it won't agree with you. Take a friend's advice, and cut it."
 
"Considerate old boy! Tell me the news."
 
"Tell you the news--I like that. Tell the news to a man whose life is passed in what the newspaper fellows call the 'vortex of fashion:' who is so much engaged that his humble servant here can't get five minutes with him on business, when it's most particularly wanted. Tell you the news, indeed!"
 
"No. But I say, you know what I mean, Gilbert. How are we getting on? Ascot, you know, and all that?"
 
"O, business! Well, Bosjesman will win the Trial Stakes, and Plume will be beaten like a sack for the Cup; both of which facts are good for us. We shall get Dumfunk's Derby-money, or most of it; he's come to terms--nice terms--with that discount company at Shrewsbury; and little Jim Potter's shoulder's better, and he'll be able to ride."
 
"And what about the house?"
 
"What house? Parliament? Does your lordship intend to put me in for Etchingham? I'm as tit a fiddle for that work, and could roll them speeches off the reel--"
 
"Don't be an ass, Gilbert! I mean the house for the week--at Ascot?"
 
"O, I see! Yes, that's all settled. I couldn't get anything nearer than Windsor; but I've got a very pretty little box there. Charley Chesterton rents it for the year--he's there with the Blues, you know; but Mrs. Chesterton's going away, and Charley will go into barracks for the week, and we can have the house. It's a stiffish figure, but they can get any amount that week, you know."
 
"O yes, of course, that don't matter. And it's a nice house, you say?"
 
"Very pretty little place indeed--do very well for us."
 
"Yes. And Mrs. Chesterton's been living there? She's a nice woman, ain't she?"
 
"Yes, she's nice enough, as women go. But what has she to do with it?"
 
"Well--I mean to say, it's a sort of crib that--don't you know--one could ask a lady to stop in?"
 
"O--h!" exclaimed Gilbert Lloyd, with a very long face--"that's it, is it?"
 
"No, no, 'pon my soul, you don't understand what I mean," said Lord Ticehurst hurriedly. "Fact of the matter is, Lady Carabas wants to come down for the Cup-day; and she'll bring a friend, of course; and I told her about my having a house somewhere in the neighbourhood for the week, and thought she and the other lady, and their maids and people, could--don't you see--stay. What do you think?"
 
"My dear Etchingham, whatever you wish, of course shall be carried out. It is not for me to teach etiquette to any lady, especially to Lady Carabas, who despises conventionality, and who, besides, is quite old enough to take care of herself. I should have thought that for a lady to come to a bachelor's house--however, of course she'll have her maid and her footman, and some one to act as her ame damnées--her sheep-dog. Who is the sheep-dog, by the way?"
 
"I don't know about sheep-dog," said Lord Ticehurst, flushing very red; "but Lady Carabas said the lady she proposed to do me the honour to bring to my house was--was Miss Grace Lambert."
 
Gilbert Lloyd looked up without the smallest trace of perturbation, and said, "Miss Grace Lambert? O, the--the celebrated singer! O, indeed!"
 
"Yes," said Lord Ticehurst; "there's a chance of her getting a holiday on Thursday night--town will be very empty, you know, and I think I shall be able to square it with Munns--and then she might come down to the races, and she and Lady Carabas could come over here afterwards. She's a most charming person, Gilbert."
 
"Is she?" said Gilbert Lloyd very slowly. "I have not--what you seem to have--the pleasure of her acquaintance. Have you known her long?"
 
"O, ever so long; ever since she first came out at a concert at Carabas House one night. Don't you recollect my pointing out to you a very stunning girl in a brougham, just as we were turning into Tatt's one day?"
 
"My dear fellow, you've pointed me out so many stunning girls when we've been turning into Tatt's, or elsewhere, that I really cannot distinguish that bright particular star. But I've seen Miss Lambert at the Opera."
 
"And she's a stunner, ain't she?"
 
"She seemed to be perfectly good-looking and ladylike on the stage. But these people are so different in private life."
 
"My dear Gilbert, I've seen her in private life, as you call it, a dozen times, and she's awfully nice."
 
"O, and she's awfully nice, eh?"
 
"What a queer fish you are! Of course she's awfully nice, and this place of Charley Chesterton's will do for these ladies to come to?"
 
"Yes, I should think so. Mrs. Chesterton is a woman accustomed to have the right thing about her; and it's good enough for her, so I presume it will 'do' for Miss Lambert and Lady Carabas."
 
"I hate you when y............