f five years, Mrs.
Haughton had attained her object. She had a "VISITING ACQUAINTANCE!" It
is true that she was not particular; so that there was a new somebody at
whose house a card could be left, or a morning call achieved--who could
help to fill her rooms, or whose rooms she could contribute to fill in
turn. She was contented. She was no tuft-hunter. She did not care for
titles. She had no visions of a column in the Morning Post. She wanted,
kind lady, only a vent for the exuberance of her social instincts; and
being proud, she rather liked acquaintances who looked up to, instead
of looking down on her. Thus Gloucester Place was invaded by tribes not
congenial to its natural civilised atmosphere. Hengists and Horsas,
from remote Anglo-Saxon districts, crossed the intervening channel, and
insulted the British nationality of that salubrious district. To most of
such immigrators, Mrs. Haughton, of Gloucester Place, was a personage
of the highest distinction. A few others of prouder status in the world,
though they owned to themselves that there was a sad mixture at Mrs.
Haughton's house, still, once seduced there, came again--being persons
who, however independent in fortune or gentle by blood, had but a small
"visiting acquaintance" in town; fresh from economical colonisation on
the Continent or from distant provinces in these three kingdoms. Mrs.
Haughton's rooms were well lighted. There was music for some, whist for
others; tea, ices, cakes, and a crowd for all.

At ten o'clock-the rooms already nearly filled, and Mrs. Haughton, as
she stood at the door, anticipating with joy that happy hour when the
staircase would become inaccessible--the head attendant, sent with the
ices from the neighbouring confectioner, announced in a loud voice: "Mr.
Haughton--Mr. Darrell."

At that latter name a sensation thrilled the assembly--the name so much
in every one's mouth at that period, nor least in the mouths of the
great middle class, on whom--though the polite may call them "a sad
mixture," cabinets depend--could not fail to be familiar to the ears
of Mrs. Haughton's "visiting acquaintance." The interval between his
announcement and his ascent from the hall to the drawing-room was busily
filled up by murmured questions to the smiling hostess: "Darrell! what!
the Darrell! Guy Darrell! greatest man of the day! A connection of
yours? Bless me, you don't say so?" Mrs. Haughton began to feel nervous.
Was Lionel right? Could the man