_A_. Chiselled! _B_. Yes; great people are always chiselled; common people are only cast.--"Finely chiselled head was still recumbent upon his silk-encased pillow. His luxuriant and Antinous-like curls were now confined in _papillotes_ of the finest satin paper, and the _tout ensemble_ of his head--" _A. Tout ensemble_! _B_. Yes; go on.--"Was gently compressed by a caul of the finest net-work, composed of the threads spun from the beauteous production of the Italian worm." _A_. Ah! now I perceive--a silk nightcap. But why can't I say at once a silk nightcap? _B_. Because you are writing a fashionable novel.--"With the forefinger of his gloved left hand--" _A_. But he's not coming in from a walk--he's not yet out of bed. _B_. You don't understand it.--"Gloved left hand he applied a gentle friction to the portal of his right eye, which unclosing at the silent summons, enabled him to perceive a repeater studded with brilliants, and ascertain the exact minute of time, which we have already made known to the reader, and at which our history opens." _A_. A very grand opening indeed! _B_. Not more than it ought to be for a fashionable novel.--"At the sound of a silver _clochette_, his faithful Swiss valet Coridon, who had for some time been unperceived at the door, waiting for some notice of his master, having thrown off the empire of Somnus, in his light pumps, covered with beaver, moved with noiseless step up to the bedside, like the advance of eve stealing over the face of nature." _A_. Rather an incongruous simile. _B_. Not for a fashionable novel.--"There he stood, like Taciturnity bowing at the feet of proud Authority." _A_. Indeed, Barnstaple, that is too _outre_. _B_. Not a whit: I am in the true "Cambysis' vein."--"Coridon having softly withdrawn the rose-coloured gros de Naples bed-curtains, which by some might have been thought to have been rather too extravagantly fringed with the finest Mechlin lace, exclaimed with a tone of tremulous deference and affection, `_Monsieur a bien dormi_?' `Coridon,' said the Honourable Augustus Bouverie, raising himself on his elbow in that eminently graceful attitude for which he was so remarkable when reclining on the ottomans at Almacks--" _A_. Are you sure they have ottomans there?