Although little inclined to merriment, Emmeline could not help laughing—the smile on her countenance caught Pelham’s eye, and he came up to her to enquire what had amused her. Emmeline told Selina’s sad tale. “Poor thing!” said Pelham. “But this is a new character Moore has taken up, I think, for he set out much more wisely, with the determination to enjoy every amusement that came in his way, professing openly a love for dancing and gaiety of every kind: but fashion, or what is called, in its slang, _being fine_, is so catching a disease that none can escape. It has taken the place of the small-pox; and I think it would be a good plan if we could be inoculated for it, so as to secure having it mildly, and of the best sort. I don’t know how _you_ manage to be _what_ and _where_ you are in the world without it; but pray don’t follow Moore’s advice on the subject—let us have _one_ specimen of a good-natured London fine lady. By the bye, I too have some advice to give you, which is, not to make up to that Mrs. Osterley: she was reckoned at Vienna _a tres mauvaise langue_, and was always making _tracasseries_. She has a gay, and apparently an artless manner, which at first takes one in. Fitzhenry never liked her, so you need not be acquainted with her; and I should really counsel you to avoid her.” There was little necessity to give Emmeline that caution: what she had already heard, had not prepossessed her in Mrs. Osterley’s favour in any way; but at that minute, the two people of whom they were talking came up. “Mrs. Osterley begs to be introduced to you, Lady Fitzhenry,” said her husband, with an evident painful embarrassment of manner. Emmeline got up, and returned the salutation, though with a coldness which she could not overcome, but which did not seem at all to discompose the person to whom it was addressed. “As an old friend of Lord Fitzhenry’s,” continued Mrs. Osterley, “I feel I have a right to claim acquaintance with you, and I trust you will allow me to endeavour to improve it.” And she seated herself by Emmeline, who again bowed in silence; for never before had she felt so totally at a loss for some of those usual phrases which mean nothing, but which fill up the awkward pause, apt to take place after a first introduction; and Fitzhenry no way helped her. He appeared to be completely discomposed; and, under pretence of seeing an acquaintance, removed to a distance. Mrs. Osterley finding Emmeline did not speak, continued:— “It is so long since I have been in England, that I hardly know any one: quite a new set and generation have started up; and my _English_ acquaintances are merely those whom I have known abroad—by the bye, Mr. Pelham, are the Mostyns in town?” “I believe they have left it,” said he, coldly. “Of course you know them,” continued Mrs. Osterley to Emmeline—”Mr. Mostyn is so particular a friend of Lord Fitzhenry’s.”