Aubrey did as he was requested, adding an unnecessary compliment on the good looks of the portress, to which she responded by a simper of gratified vanity--thereby showing that neither belonged to the wisest class of mankind--and he was ushered upstairs, into a small but pleasant parlour, where three gentlemen sat conversing. A decanter stood on the table, half full of wine, and each gentleman was furnished with a glass. The long silver pipe was passing round from one to another, and its smoker looked up as Aubrey was announced. "Ah! welcome, Mr Louvaine. Mr Winter, you know this gentleman. Sir, this is my very good friend Mr Darcy,"--indicating the third person by a motion of the hand. "Mr Darcy, suffer me to make you acquainted with Mr Louvaine, my good Lord Oxford's gentleman and a right pleasant companion.--Pray you, help yourself to Rhenish, and take a pipe." Aubrey accepted the double invitation, and was soon puffing at the pipe which Catesby handed to him. He had not taken much notice of the stranger, and none at all of a gesture on the part of Mr Catesby as he introduced him--a momentary stroking upwards of his forehead, intended as a sign not to Aubrey, but to the other. The stranger, however, perfectly understood it. To him it said, "Here is a simpleton: mind what you say." Mr Catesby, the occupant of the furnished apartments, was a man of unusually lofty height, being over six feet, and of slender build, though well-proportioned; he had a handsome and expressive face, and, while not eloquent, was possessed of the most fascinating and attractive manners by which man ever dragged his fellow-man to evil. Mr Winter, on the other hand, was as short as his friend was tall. His rather handsome features were of the Grecian type, and he had the power of infusing into them at will a look of the most touching child-like innocence. He spoke five, languages, and was a well-read man for his time.