A stream of carriages and hansoms rolled down Regent Street, giving the weary pedestrian a panorama of gaily-trimmed hats and dainty sunshades. Portly dowagers accompanied beautiful girls; and it was a noticeable fact that whilst the dowagers sat bolt upright, alert and on the _qui vive_, most of the _débutantes_ leant languidly against the cushions with an air of supercilious boredom, the exacting demands of the season combined with the oppressive heat having apparently drained their vitality. All roads seemed to lead to the Queens Hall that afternoon, and judging by the ornate escutcheons on the panels of some of the equipages, there were great people on the road. The occasion was the much-advertised charity _matinée_, organized by the popular dramatist, Guy Haviland, in aid of a well-known London hospital. Society had been pleased to bestow its patronage, and as the tickets had been disposed of at fancy prices, it was sufficiently select for the _élite_ to honour with their presence. The function promised to be a highly interesting and successful one, for Haviland had prevailed upon several stars of the musical and dramatic professions to give their services in the cause of charity. Moreover, the gifted young singer, Celia Franks, who had made her _début_ in Paris--where she had finished her studies--was to make her first appearance before the English public; and as her wealth, beauty, and attainments had been so fully discussed in the society papers, society was curious to see whether the numerous eulogies of her merits were justified. The hall was packed long before the concert began. Stalls and balconies were filled with women of fashion and men of note. Those who knew said it was one of the most brilliant gatherings of the season, and that the names of some of those present would have made a condensed edition of Debrett. Everybody seemed to know everybody else; and the hum of conversation buzzed loud and strong. A well-groomed man of forty, with a gardenia in his button-hole, sauntered leisurely about the hall, stopping every now and then to greet an acquaintance, and chat about the weather and the opera. He was a popular man about town, being a peer in fairly prosperous circumstances, and still unmarried. Anxious mothers, with several daughters on their hands, made much of him, and the girls themselves declared him “so interesting, don’t you know.” But the wiles of the mothers, and the charms of the daughters were alike of no avail, for wherever he went he proclaimed himself a confirmed bachelor. As he was about to return to his seat, a lady sailed up to him, her long silken skirts trailing on the ground. She was a regal-looking woman, magnificently dressed with perfect taste; and her bearing indicated that she was fully conscious of her own importance. With a bewitching smile she invited the noble lord to buy a programme; she had only three left, she said, and was very anxious to sell them before the concert began.