Although the Chief Baron had assured Haire that his mission had no difficulty about it, that he 'd find her Ladyship would receive him in a very courteous spirit, and, finally, that “he'd do the thing” admirably, the unhappy little lawyer approached his task with considerable misgivings, which culminated in actual terror as he knocked at the door of the house where Lady Lendrick resided in Merrion Square, and sent up his name. “The ladies are still in committee, sir,” said a bland-looking, usher-like personage, who, taking up Haire's card from the salver, scanned the name with a half-supercilious look. “In committee! ah, indeed, I was not aware,” stammered out Haire. “I suspect--that is--I have reason to believe her Ladyship is aware--I mean my name is not unknown to Lady Lendrick--would you kindly present my card?” “Take it up, Bates,” said the man in black, and then turned away to address another person, for the hall was crowded with people of various conditions and ranks, and who showed in their air and manner a something of anxiety, if not of impatience. “Mr. MacClean,--where's Mr. MacClean?” cried a man in livery, as he held forth a square-shaped letter. “Is Mr. MacClean there?” “Yes, I'm Mr. MacClean,” said a red-faced, fussy-looking man. “I'm Mr. George Henry MacClean, of 41 Mount Street.” “Two tickets for Mr. MacClean,” said the usher, handing him the letter with a polite bow. “Mr. Nolan, Balls Bridge,--does any one represent Mr. Nolan of Balls Bridge?” said the usher, haughtily. “That 's me,” said a short man, who wiped the perspiration from his face with a red-spotted handkerchief, as large as a small bed-quilt,--“that's me.” “The references not satisfactory, Mr. Nolan,” said the usher, reading from a paper in his hand. “Not satisfactory?--what do you mean? Is Peter Arkins, Esquire, of Clontarf, unsatisfactory? Is Mr. Ryland, of Abbey Street, unsatisfactory?” “I am really, sir, unable to afford you the explanation you desire. I am simply deputed by her Ladyship to return the reply that I find written here. The noise is really so great here I can hear nothing. Who are you asking for, Bates?” “Mr. Mortimer O'Hagan.” “He's gone away,” cried a voice; “he was here since eleven o'clock.” “Application refused. Will some one tell Mr. O'Hagan his application is refused?” said the usher, austerely. “Might I be bold enough to ask what is going forward?” whispered Haire. “Mr. W. Haire, Ely Place,” shouted out the man in livery. “Card refused for want of a reference.” “You ought to have sent up two names,--well-known names, Mr. Haire,” said the usher, with a politeness that seemed marked. “It's not too late yet; let me see,” and he looked at his watch, “we want a quarter to one; be back here in half an hour. Take a car,--you 'll find one at the door. Get your names, and I 'll see if I can't do it for you.”