“I do find myself such a complete country cousin in London, that really it’s quite ridiculous! I meet all sorts of celebrities, and don’t know one of them by sight. Now, for instance, do you see that pair of young exquisites lounging elegantly along, like a couple of self-enamoured sleep-walkers, and dressed like beatific visions of dandies, rather than mere sublunary fops? I’m sure I’ve met the youngest of them somewhere--he with the _petites moustaches noires_, which are so irresistible that I should certainly cultivate a pair myself, if I did not feel morally certain that my prejudiced progenitor would cut them, and me, off with the same shilling.” “In fact, cut off his _h_eir because you would not cut off yours,” punned Coverdale. “But in regard to your beatific swells, I fancy Alice can enlighten you as to the patronymic of one of them, if she chooses; he is a very particular friend, to say nothing more, of hers. She only married me because she failed in captivating him.” Alice replied to Lord Alfred’s expressive look, which asked as plainly as words could have done, “Is this _all_ jest, or is there a small foundation of fact for it to rest upon?”--“If that had been my only reason for accepting my romancing husband, I should have remained Miss Hazlehurst still; however, I plead guilty to knowing Mr. D’Almayne, as he happens to be an intimate friend of Mr. Crane, the gentleman who married my cousin Kate, and in whose house we are now staying.” While they thus chatted, the following conversation was being carried on in French between the subject of their remarks and his companion, a showily-dressed man, some half-dozen years older than Horace D’Almayne, with handsome features, but a worn, dissipated look, which involuntarily prejudiced one against him. He spoke with a thoroughly foreign accent, and the animated gestures with which he sought to elucidate his meaning also tended to prove he was not a native of this country. “The plan has been worked out,” he continued, referring to some subject with which D’Almayne appeared acquainted, “and with _his_ name as director, and £1000 ready money to pay clerks, and establish the concern on a respectable foundation, the affair will go charmingly; John Bull shall buy our shares and hand us his money, and in six months’ time, with that and”--here he sank his voice--“the club in J-------- Street, we may set fortune at defiance.” “Mind you are careful about keeping our connection with the club secret,” returned D’Almayne, almost in a whisper; “we are not in Paris, remember; and the slightest suspicion that we played, would be fatal to your hopes of inducing men of capital to join the other affair.”