Her drawing-rooms on the evening of June 13th were crowded with representatives of Society. Lashmar arrived about ten o'clock, and his hostess had soon introduced him to two or three persons of political note, with each of whom he exchanged phrases of such appalling banality that he had much ado not to laugh in his interlocutor's face. The swelling current moved him along; he could only watch countenances and listen to dialogues as foolish as those in which he had taken part; a dizzying babblement filled the air, heavy with confusion of perfumes. Presently, having circled his way back towards the stair-head, he caught sight of Lord Dymchurch, who had newly entered; their eyes met, but Dymchurch, who wore a very absent look, gave no sign of recognition. Dyce pressed forward. "I hoped I might meet you here," he said. The other started, smiled nervously, and spoke in a confused way. "I thought it likely. Of course you know a great many of these people?" "Oh, a few. I had rather meet them anywhere than in such a crowd, though." "Wonderful, isn't it?" murmured Dymchurch, with a comical distress in his eyebrows. "Wonderful!" Good-naturedly nodding, he moved away, and was lost to sight. Dyce, holding his place near the entrance, perceived at length another face that he knew--that of a lady with whom he had recently dined at this house; in her company came Constance Bride and May Tomalin. He all but bounded to meet them. Constance looked well in a garb more ornate than Lashmar had yet seen her wearing; May, glowing with self-satisfaction, made a brilliant appearance. Their chaperon spoke with him; he learned that Lady Ogram did not feel quite equal to an occasion such as this, and had stayed at home. Miss Tomalin, eager to join in the talk, pressed before Constance. "Have you got your speech ready, Mr. Lashmar?" she asked, with sprightly condescension. "Quite. How sorry I am that you won't be able to enjoy that masterpiece of eloquence!" "Oh, but it will be reported. It must be reported, of course." The chaperon interposed, presenting to Miss Tomalin a gentleman who seemed very desirous of that honour, and Dyce stifled his annoyance in saying apart to Constance: "What barbarism this is! One might as well try to converse in the middle of the street at Charing Cross." "Certainly. But people don't come to converse," was the answer. "You enjoy this kind of thing, I fancy?" "I don't find it disagreeable." The chaperon and Miss Tomalin were moving away; May cast a look at Lashmar, but he was unconscious of it. Constance turned to follow her companions, and Dyce stood alone again.