"Hallo, Plinlimmon!" shouted Mr. Rupert Robinson; "been giving a show, haven't you? what sort of house did you have? who looked after your checks? you were very well billed, I noticed." Plinlimmon shuddered. "Lecturing, haven't you?" asked Mr. Slater, critic of the _Moon_. "Yes," said Plinlimmon, "I have been giving a lecture." "Ah!" said Mr. Schrink, critic of the _Statesman_, "if I'm not wrong, Dr. Johnson defines the verb to lecture as to 'instruct insolently and dogmatically.' You're quite capable of that, Plinlimmon." "What was your subject, sir?" asked Mr. Mugg, low comedian of the Sanspareil Theatre. "Sentiment, sir!" said Mr. Plinlimmon, fiercely; it began to dawn on him that he was being chaffed. "Deary me!" said Mr. Mugg, with feigned wonder and uplifted hands; "sentiment, eh? them's my sentiments!" "Silence, you ribalds!" said Mr. Magnus. "You had a large attendance, I hear, Plinlimmon; more women than men, though, I suppose? Men don't come in the daytime." "There was a great gathering of the female aristocracy," said Plinlimmon, perking up his head. "One old woman jawing always brings together a lot of others," growled Mr. Dunster, beneath his breath. He had been apparently dozing in a far corner of the room, but had roused up at the word "aristocracy,"--as sure an irritant to him as a red rag to a bull,--and his bright blue eyes were gleaming. "I didn't think much of your delivery, Plinlimmon," said Mr. Slater. "It was as slow as a midday postman's, and not so sure," said Mr. Schrink; "you got uncommonly drowsy and bag-pipy at times." "I'll tell you what it is Plinlimmon," said Mr. Dunster; "you are uncommonly dreary! You're a swell, and you can't help it; but you were horribly slow. I'll tell you what it is, my young friend; you're far too dull by yourself,--_you want a piano_." During the roar which followed this remark, Beresford felt a light touch on his arm, and turning round saw Dr. Prater.