My Uncle Charles was at home and we had a very pleasant party. I sung for Mr. Pepys and with him, for he was a good deal of a musician, and my aunt took his opinion as to her choice of a teacher which he commended. In the afternoon we usually went into the park, paid visits, or attended some show or exposition of china or pictures, or we went to some auction or other. In the evening we either went out or entertained company at home, in which case we had cards, and not unfrequently the play ran pretty high. The dean and Theo came to one of these entertainments, which indeed was made expressly for them; but I think they were not very well pleased with what they saw, for Theo sent for me the next day and was earnest for me to return home with her to Exeter. I told her with many thanks that I could not think of it—that my aunt needed me, and that I was happy with her. "That is the worst of it," said Theo gravely. "You like the life, and that makes it the more dangerous for you." "But you used to like it yourself," said I. "Not such company as we see here," she answered, and then after a little she added in a low voice, "Vevette, what would your mother advise if she were here? What would she say?" I was vexed at being reminded of what was one of my chief drawbacks in my present life, and answered pettishly, that my mother's former life and circumstances had naturally made her rather strict and melancholy in her notions, and that I could not think any one was a better Christian for always wearing a solemn face and denying one's self every pleasure. Theo looked very grave, but she said no more, nor did she again ask me to return with her. About a fortnight after I came to London, I went with my aunt to a grand entertainment at the house of the French ambassador. I had an entirely new dress for the occasion, and wore my pearl necklace which my lady had given me. My aunt was very solicitous that I should look my best, but when she saw me, she professed herself quite satisfied, and presented me to my uncle with no little pride. We found the street filled with carriages, and the usual crush and confusion prevailing—horses backing and rearing, coachmen swearing and wheels interlocking—but we reached the door at last, and made our way through the ranks of splendidly dressed ladies and gentlemen to the saloon where the ambassador received his guests. He was a very courtly man, with a smile and a compliment for all, and one of the handsomest and most crafty faces I ever saw. "And this is my young countrywoman of whom I have heard," said he, addressing himself to me. "I must by and by present her to a friend. I am proud of my countrywoman, madame. Indeed, she would be a credit to any nation on earth." "There, Vevette, your fame is established as a beauty," whispered my aunt, as the crowd pushed us on, "since monsieur the count hath pronounced such an eulogium upon it. Is not this a splendid scene?"