But soon came smart-looking men, and still smarter-looking ladies, around the solitary corner of the poor Captain. He grew fidgety--he rose--he vanished. I left my place, and stood without the box to watch for him. Down stairs he stumped--I recoiled into the shade; and after standing a moment or two, as in doubt, he entered boldly the refreshment room, or saloon. Now, since I had left that saloon, it had become crowded, and I slipped in unobserved. Strange was it, grotesque, yet pathetic, to mark the old soldier in the midst of that gay swarm. He towered above all like a Homeric hero, a head taller than the tallest; and his appearance was so remarkable, that it invited the instant attention of the fair. I, in my simplicity, thought it was the natural tenderness of that amiable and penetrating sex, ever quick to detect trouble, and anxious to relieve it, that induced three ladies, in silk attire--one having a hat and plume, the other two with a profusion of ringlets--to leave a little knot of gentlemen with whom they were conversing, and to plant themselves before my uncle. I advanced through the press to hear what passed. "You are looking for some one, I'm sure," quoth one familiarly, tapping his arm with her fan. The Captain started. "Ma'am, you are not wrong," said he. "Can I do as well?" said one of those compassionate angels, with heavenly sweetness. "You are very kind, I thank you: no, no, Ma'am," said the Captain, with his best bow. "Do take a glass of negus," said another, as her friend gave way to her. "You seem tired, and so am I. Here, this way;" and she took hold of his arm to lead him to the table. The Captain shook his head mournfully; and then, as if become suddenly aware of the nature of the attention so lavished on him, he looked down upon these fair Armidas with a look of such mild reproach--such sweet compassion--not shaking off the hand in his chivalrous devotion to the sex, which extended even to all its outcasts--that each bold eye fell abashed. The hand was timidly and involuntarily withdrawn from the arm, and my uncle passed his way. He threaded the crowd, passed out at the farther door, and I, guessing his intention, was in waiting for his steps in the street. "Now home at last, thank heaven!" thought I. Mistaken still! My uncle went first towards that popular haunt, which I have since discovered is called "the Shades;" but he soon re-emerged, and finally he knocked at the door of a private house, in one of the streets out of St James's. It was opened jealously, and closed as he entered, leaving me without. What could this house be? As I stood and watched, some other men approached,--again the low single knock,--again the jealous opening, and the stealthy entrance. A policeman passed and repassed me. "Don't be tempted, young man," said he, looking hard at me: "take my advice, and go home." "What is that house, then?" said I, with a sort of shudder at this ominous warning. "Oh, you know."