Agnes sat down passively on the chair he brought for her. The poor girl felt grievously ashamed of herself. After all, what was that poor little book, that she should ground such mighty claims upon it? Who cared for the author of _Hope Hazlewood_? Mr Agar, though he was so kind, did not even care to inquire what book it was, nor showed the smallest curiosity about its name. Agnes was so much cast down that she scarcely noticed the upright figure approaching towards them, carrying an abstracted head high in the air, and very like to run over smaller people; but Mr Agar stepped aside, and Marian touched her sister’s arm. “It is Mr Endicott--look, Agnes!” whispered Marian. Both of them were stirred with sudden pleasure at sight of him; it was a known face in this dazzling wilderness, though it was not a very comely one. Mr Endicott was as much startled as themselves when glancing downward from his lofty altitude, his eye fell upon the beautiful face which had made sunshine even in the shady place of that Yankee young gentleman’s self-admiring breast. The sudden discovery brightened his lofty languor for a moment. He hastened to shake hands with them, so impressively that the pretty lady and her cloud of admirers paused in their flutter of satire and compliment to look on. “This is a pleasure I was not prepared for,” said Mr Endicott. “I remember that Mr Atheling had an early acquaintance with Viscount Winterbourne--I presume an old hereditary friendship. I am rejoiced to find that such things are, even in this land of sophistication. This is a brilliant scene!” “Indeed I do not think papa knows Lord Winterbourne,” said Agnes hastily; but her low voice did not reach the ears which had been so far enlightened by Mr Endicott. “Hereditary friendship--old connections of the family; no doubt daughters of some squire in Banburyshire,” said their beautiful neighbour, in a half-offended tone, to one of her especial retainers, who showed strong symptoms of desertion, and had already half-a-dozen times asked Marian’s name. Unfortunate Mr Endicott! he gained a formidable rival by these ill-advised words. “I find little to complain of generally in the most distinguished circles of your country,” said Mr Endicott. “Your own men of genius may be neglected, but a foreigner of distinction always finds a welcome. This is true wisdom--for by this means we are enabled to carry a good report to the world.” “I say, what nice accounts these French fellows give of us!” burst in suddenly a very young man, who stood under the shadow of Mr Endicott. The youth who hazarded this brilliant remark did not address anybody in particular, and was somewhat overpowered by the unexpected honour of an answer from Mr Agar.