‘Do you dine at Monmouth House to-day?’ inquired Lord Eskdale of Mr. Rigby. ‘Where I hope to meet your lordship. The Whig papers are very subdued,’ continued Mr. Rigby. ‘Ah! they have not the cue yet,’ said Lord Eskdale. ‘And what do you think of affairs?’ inquired his companion. ‘I think the hounds are too hot to hark off now,’ said Lord Eskdale. ‘There is one combination,’ said Rigby, who seemed meditating an attack on Lord Eskdale’s button. ‘Give it us at dinner,’ said Lord Eskdale, who knew his man, and made an adroit movement forwards, as if he were very anxious to see the _Globe_ newspaper. In the course of two or three hours these gentlemen met again in the green drawing-room of Monmouth House. Mr. Rigby was sitting on a sofa by Lord Monmouth, detailing in whispers all his gossip of the morn: Lord Eskdale murmuring quaint inquiries into the ear of the Princess Lucretia. Madame Colonna made remarks alternately to two gentlemen, who paid her assiduous court. One of these was Mr. Ormsby; the school, the college, and the club crony of Lord Monmouth, who had been his shadow through life; travelled with him in early days, won money with him at play, had been his colleague in the House of Commons; and was still one of his nominees. Mr. Ormsby was a millionaire, which Lord Monmouth liked. He liked his companions to be very rich or very poor; be his equals, able to play with him at high stakes, or join him in a great speculation; or to be his tools, and to amuse and serve him. There was nothing which he despised and disliked so much as a moderate fortune.