‘If Sydney Smith was alive,’ said Calton, in reference to this, ‘he would be astonished at the number of stories he did not tell.’ ‘Yes,’ chimed in Vandeloup, gaily, ‘and astounded at their brilliancy.’ ‘After all,’ said Madame, smiling, ‘he’s a sheet-anchor for some people; for the best original story may fail, a dull one ascribed to Sydney Smith must produce a laugh.’ ‘Why?’ asked Kitty, in some wonder. ‘Because,’ explained Calton, gravely, ‘society goes mainly by tradition, and our grandmothers having laughed at Sydney Smith’s jokes, they must necessarily be amusing. Depend upon it, jokes can be sanctified by time quite as much as creeds.’ ‘They are more amusing, at all events,’ said Madame, satirically. ‘Creeds generally cause quarrels.’ Vandeloup shrugged his shoulders. ‘And quarrels generally cause stories,’ he said, smiling; ‘it is the law of compensation.’ They then went to the drawing-room and Kitty and Vandeloup both sang, and treated one another in a delightfully polite way. Madame Midas and Calton were both clever, but how much cleverer were the two young people at the piano. ‘Are you going to Meddlechip’s ball?’ said Calton to Madame. ‘Oh, yes,’ she answered, nodding her head, ‘I and Miss Marchurst are both going.’ ‘Who is Mr Meddlechip?’ asked Kitty, swinging round on the piano-stool. ‘He is the most charitable man in Melbourne,’ said Gaston, with a faint sneer. ‘Great is Diana of the Ephesians,’ said Calton, mockingly. ‘Because Mr Meddlechip suffers from too much money, and has to get rid of it to prevent himself being crushed like Tarpeia by the Sabine shields, he is called charitable.’ ‘He does good, though, doesn’t he?’ asked Madame. ‘See advertisement,’ scoffed Calton. ‘Oh, yes! he will give thousands of pounds for any public object, but private charity is a waste of money in his eyes.’ ‘You are very hard on him,’ said Madame Midas, with a laugh. ‘Ah! Mr Calton believes as I do,’ cried Vandeloup, ‘that it’s no good having friends unless you’re privileged to abuse them.’ ‘It’s one you take full advantage of, then,’ observed Kitty, saucily. ‘I always take what I can get,’ he returned, mockingly; whereon she shivered, and Calton saw it. ‘Ah!’ said that astute reader of character to himself, ‘there’s something between those two. ‘Gad! I’ll cross-examine my French friend.’ They said good-night to the ladies, and walked to the St Kilda station, from thence took the train to town, and Calton put into force his cross-examination. He might as well have tried his artful questions on a rock as on Vandeloup, for that clever young gentleman saw through the barrister at once, and baffled him at every turn with his epigrammatic answers and consummate coolness. ‘I confess,’ said Calton, when they said good-night to one another, ‘I confess you puzzle me.’ ‘Language,’ observed M. Vandeloup, with a smile, ‘was given to us to conceal our thoughts. Good night!’ And they parted.