"Pshaw, man! don't make a mountain out of a mole-hill! Tell me her name!" "Her name is Leoline." "What else ?" "That is just what I would like to have some one tell me.

I give you my honor, my lord, I do not know." The earl's face, half indignant, half incredulous, wholly curious, made Ormiston smile.
"It is a fact, my lord.

I asked her her name, and she told me Leoline--a pretty title enough, but rather unsatisfactory." "How long have you known her ?" "To the best of my belief," said Ormiston, musingly, "about four hours." "Nonsense!" cried the earl, energetically.

"What are you telling me, Ormiston?
You said she was an old friend." "I beg your pardon, my lord, I said no such thing.

I told you she had escaped from her friends, which was strictly true." "Then how the demon had you the impudence to come up and carry her off in that style?
I certainly had a better right to her than you--the right of discovery; and I shall call upon you to deliver her up!" "If she belonged to me I should only be too happy to oblige your lordship," laughed Ormiston; "but she is at present the property of Sir Norman Kingsley, and to him you must apply." "Ah! His inamorata, is she?
Well, I must say his taste is excellent; but I should think you ought to know her name, since you and he are noted for being a modern Damon and Pythias." "Probably I should, my lord, only Sir Norman, unfortunately, does not know himself." The earl's countenance looked so utterly blank at this announcement, that Ormiston was forced to throw in a word of explanation.
"I mean to say, my lord, that he has fallen in love with her; and, judging from appearances, I should say his flame is not altogether hopeless, although they have met to-night for the first time." "A rapid passion.