the public until there has been a little talk about
it, don't you understand? She wants some of the society papers to
mention it; but she isn't quite sure how to get that done, and nobody
seems able to help her--it's really distressing. Do you see that hideous
creature down there at the corner?"

"Yes."

"He's a writer," observed this artless maiden, in mysterious tones.

"You don't say so!"

"Yes, he is--writes in all kinds of places. Why, now I think of it, Lady
Adela said he was a friend of yours! I'm sure she did. So you pretend
not to know him--is that on account of his complexion? Have you any more
such _beauties_ among your acquaintances, Mr. Moore? I thought he might
be taking me in to dinner; and that's why I was so glad you brought me
to look at the cards. Very rude, wasn't it? but you had permission,
hadn't you? And there's another one coming to-night."

"Another what?"

"A writing man. But this other one is an American. Of course Lady Adela
wants to have the curiosity of the American public excited just as well
as the English. Have you heard Lady Sybil's marching-song yet?"

"No."

"Well, I think it is charming--really charming. Rockminster was dining
with the officers of the Coldstream Guards the other evening, and he
promised to send a copy to the bandmaster as soon as it is published.
But Sybil wants more than that, of course; she wants to see whether the
commander-in-chief wouldn't recommend it, so that it could be taken up
by all the regiments. Wouldn't that be splendid?--to think that Sybil
should provide a marching-song for the whole British army!"

"Yes, indeed," said he, with great politeness. "And why shouldn't the
commander-in-chief recommend it? A marching-song is as important as a
new button. But I must get a look at the music, if we are all to join in
the chorus."

The dinner was not long-protracted, for there was to be a concert during
the evening; and, indeed, people began to arrive early--strolling
through the galleries, looking at the pictures, or talking together in
small groups. It was during this promiscuous assembling that Octavius
Quirk got hold of Lionel, and, with savage disgust, drew his attention
to a hostler-looking person who had just come into the room.

"Do you see that ill-conditioned brute; what's he doing here?"

Lionel glanced in the direction indicated.

"I don't know who he is."

"Don't you know Quincey Hooper? the correspondent of the _Philadelphia
Roll