_Lady Clarinda_.—They say he was good-looking, till his bubble schemes, as they call them, stamped him with the physiognomy of a desperate gambler. I suspect he has still a penchant towards his first flame. If he takes me, it will be for my rank and connection, and the second seat of the borough of Rogueingrain. So we shall meet on equal terms, and shall enjoy all the blessedness of expecting nothing from each other. _Captain Fitzchrome_.—You can expect no security with such an adventurer. _Lady Clarinda_.—I shall have the security of a good settlement, and then if _andare al diavolo_ be his destiny, he may go, you know, by himself. He is almost always dreaming and _distrait_. It is very likely that some great reverse is in store for him: but that will not concern me, you perceive. _Captain Fitzchrome_.—You torture me, Clarinda, with the bare possibility. _Lady Clarinda_.—Hush! Here is music to soothe your troubled spirit. Next to him, on this side, sits the dilettante composer, Mr. Trillo; they say his name was O’Trill, and he has taken the O from the beginning, and put it at the end. I do not know how this may be. He plays well on the violoncello, and better on the piano; sings agreeably; has a talent at versemaking, and improvises a song with some felicity. He is very agreeable company in the evening, with his instruments and music-books. He maintains that the sole end of all enlightened society is to get up a good opera, and laments that wealth, genius, and energy are squandered upon other pursuits, to the neglect of this one great matter. _Captain Fitzchrome_.—That is a very pleasant fancy at any rate. _Lady Clarinda_.—I assure you he has a great deal to say for it. Well, next to him, again, is Dr. Morbific, who has been all over the world to prove that there is no such thing as contagion; and has inoculated himself with plague, yellow fever, and every variety of pestilence, and is still alive to tell the story. I am very shy of him, too; for I look on him as a walking phial of wrath, corked full of all infections, and not to be touched without extreme hazard. _Captain Fitzchrome_.—This is the strangest fellow of all. _Lady Clarinda_.—Next to him sits Mr. Philpot, the geographer, who thinks of nothing but the heads and tails of rivers, and lays down the streams of Terra Incognita as accurately as if he had been there. He is a person of pleasant fancy, and makes a sort of fairy land of every country he touches, from the Frozen Ocean to the Deserts of Sahara. _Captain Fitzchrome_.—How does he settle matters with Mr. Firedamp?