And, truly, it is a fine and a suggestive sight--a dinner-party--custom cannot stale, to the thoughtful guest, its infinite variety; however age may wither it. For are not here collected, in one carefully arranged bouquet, the single flowers of our vast society? The newest varieties, the brightest tints and rarest hybrids. Here are twelve of the few who have wealth to bloom and give fragrance, leisure to cultivate, develop, and adorn; they are fretted with no cares until the morrow; their duty but pleasure, to be happy their one endeavor, to please and to be pleased. I am afraid to say how many folk have labored that this hour should be a pleasant one to these; shall we say, a thousand? The table is snowy and sparkling; about it sit these six men, whose chief virtue seems conformity, those six women, whose merit seems display. They do not eat, they dine; a daily sacrament of taste and studied human life. So, far above the cares of earth, feast leisurely the careless gods--do they not? Who are our gods and goddesses? Well, first, there is Mrs. Levison Gower; she is in gray silk and silver, _pétillante_ with _esprit_ (how does it happen that she always makes one go to the French for epithets?). On the right, Lord Birmingham, who looks bored; next him (to Arthur’s slight surprise) is Kitty Farnum. Then John Haviland; then Mrs. Malgam; then Caryl Wemyss at the end, looking irritable. (Mr. Gower was away.) On his right, Mrs. Wilton Hay (black velvet is her dress, without lace or collar, from which her blond neck bursts, like a hot-house bud)--then Arthur; next him, little Pussie Duval and a stranger; beyond him, Miss Marion Lenoir, a dinner beauty, and Lionel Derwent, on his hostess’s left, and scowling at Lord Birmingham. Five--yes, six beautiful women; half a dozen picked men. A veritable round table, with women’s rights, in this castle by the storied river, “Tell me, who is that next you--a fine-looking man?” said Mrs. Hay. “I believe his name is Van Kull,” said Arthur, indifferently. “Oh, indeed?” said she, with interest; and honored our old acquaintance with her eye-glass. “I heard he was such a favorite with the Prince.” And as we have not seen Kill Van Kull for some years, a hint as to his past would not be amiss. Only, you mustn’t refer to his recent past, beyond the last two months. The fact is, Van Kull had a way of disappearing, under complicated circumstances; but as he always returned alone, after a few months, society pardoned it. Particularly when he came back with a man, a lord, or fresh from a visit at Sandringham--New York tries hard to be virtuous; but what can it do when an offence is condoned by London?