This was perilous; nor was this all: Lord Vargrave knew that in London--gaudy, babbling, and remorseless London--all that he could most wish to conceal from the young lady would be dragged to day.

He had been the lover, not of one, but of a dozen women, for whom he did not care three straws, but whose favour had served to strengthen him in society, or whose influence made up for his own want of hereditary political connections.

The manner in which he contrived to shake off these various Ariadnes, whenever it was advisable, was not the least striking proof of his diplomatic abilities.

He never left them enemies.
According to his own solution of the mystery, he took care never to play the gallant with Dulcineas under a certain age.

"Middle-aged women," he was wont to say, "are very little different from middle-aged men; they see things sensibly, and take things coolly." Now Evelyn could not be three weeks, perhaps three days, in London, without learning of one or the other of these _liaisons_.