him, and failing in that attempt, turned aside, as if not to see Dick's
movements,--a circumstance which did not escape the notice of the
group, and confirmed all their suspicions,--Mr. Avenel, with a serious,
thoughtful face, and a slow step, approached the group. Nor did the
great Roman general more nervously "flutter the dove-cots in Corioli,"
than did the advance of the supposed X. Y. agitate the bosoms of Lord
Spendquick and his sympathizing friends. Pocket-book in hand, and
apparently feeling for something formidable within its mystic recesses,
step by step came Dick Avenel towards the fireplace. The group stood
still, fascinated by horror.

"Hum," said Mr. Avenel, clearing his throat.

"I don't like that hum at all," muttered Spendquick. "Proud to have made
your acquaintance, gentlemen," said Dick, bowing.

The gentlemen thus addressed bowed low in return.

"My friend the baron thought this not exactly the time to--" Dick
stopped a moment; you might have knocked down those four young
gentlemen, though four finer specimens of humanity no aristocracy in
Europe could produce,--you might have knocked them down with a feather!
"But," renewed Avenel, not finishing his sentence, "I have made it a
rule in life never to lose securing a good opportunity; in short, to
make the most of the present moment. And," added he, with a smile which
froze the blood in Lord Spendquick's veins, "the rule has made me a very
warm man! Therefore, gentlemen, allow me to present you each with one
of these"--every hand retreated behind the back of its well-born owner,
when, to the inexpressible relief of all, Dick concluded with,--"a
little soiree dansante," and extended four cards of invitation.

"Most happy!" exclaimed Spendquick. "I don't dance in general; but to
oblige X--I mean, to have a better acquaintance, sir, with you--I would
dance on the tight-rope."

There was a good-humoured, pleasant laugh at Spendquick's enthusiasm,
and a general shaking of hands and pocketing of the invitation cards.

"You don't look like a dancing man," said Avenel, turning to the wit,
who was plump and somewhat gouty,--as wits who dine out five days in the
week generally are; "but we shall have supper at one o'clock."

Infinitely offended and disgusted, the wit replied dryly, "that every
hour of his time was engaged for the rest of the season," and, with a
stiff salutation to the baron, took his departure. The rest, in good
spirits, hurried away to