out the baron's house and his dinner. If he had been
one of the lawful kings of the dandies, you would have cried, "What
perfect taste!"--but such is human nature, that the dandies who dined
with him said to each other, "He pretend to imitate D----! vulgar dog!"
There was little affectation of your more showy opulence. The furniture
in the rooms was apparently simple, but, in truth, costly, from its
luxurious comfort; the ornaments and china scattered about the commodes
were of curious rarity and great value, and the pictures on the walls
were gems. At dinner, no plate was admitted on the table. The Russian
fashion, then uncommon, now more prevalent, was adopted, fruit and
flowers in old Sevres dishes of priceless vertu, and in sparkling glass
of Bohemian fabric. No livery servant was permitted to wait; behind each
guest stood a gentleman dressed so like the guest himself, in fine linen
and simple black, that guest and lacquey seemed stereotypes from one
plate.

The viands were exquisite; the wine came from the cellars of deceased
archbishops and ambassadors. The company was select; the party did not
exceed eight. Four were the eldest sons of peers (from a baron to
a duke); one was a professed wit, never to be got without a month's
notice, and, where a parvenu was host, a certainty of green peas and
peaches--out of season; the sixth, to Randal's astonishment, was Mr.
Richard Avenel; himself and the baron made up the complement.

The eldest sons recognized each other with a meaning smile; the most
juvenile of them, indeed (it was his first year in London), had the
grace to blush and look sheepish. The others were more hardened; but
they all united in regarding with surprise both Randal and Dick Avenel.
The former was known to most of them personally, and to all, by repute,
as a grave, clever, promising young man, rather prudent than lavish,
and never suspected to have got into a scrape. What the deuce did he do
there? Mr. Avenel puzzled them yet more. A middle-aged man, said to
be in business, whom they had observed "about town" (for he had a
noticeable face and figure),--that is, seen riding in the Park, or
lounging in the pit at the opera, but never set eyes on at a recognized
club, or in the coteries of their "set;" a man whose wife gave horrid
third-rate parties, that took up half a column in the "Morning Post"
with a list of "The Company Present," in which a sprinkling of dowagers
fading out of fashion, and a forei