The Onslows, it was clear, would not know her; it only remained, then, to show why she would not know them. It was a rare thing to find a family settling down at Florence against whom a “true bill” might not easily be found of previous misconduct. Few left England without a reason that might readily become an allegation. Bankruptcy or divorce were the light offences; the higher ones we must not speak of. Now the Onslows, as it happened, were not in this category. Sir Stafford's character was unimpeachable, her Ladyship's had nothing more grave against it than the ordinary levities of her station. George “had gone the pace,” it was true, but nothing disreputable attached to him. There was no use, there fore, in “trying back” for a charge, and Mrs. Ricketts perceived that they must be arraigned on the very vaguest of evidence. Many a head has fallen beneath the guillotine for a suspicion, and many a heart been broken on a surmise! A little dinner at the Villino opened the plan of proceedings. It was a small auto-da-fe of character at which the Onslows were to be the victims, while the grand inquisitors were worthily represented by the Polish Count, Haggerstone, Purvis, and a certain Mr. Foglass, then passing through Florence on his way to England. This gentleman, who was the reputed son of a supposed son of George the Fourth, was received as “very good royalty” in certain circles abroad, and, by virtue of a wig, a portly chest, and a most imposing pomposity of manner, taken to be exceedingly like his grandfather, just on the same principle as red currant jelly makes middling mutton resemble venison. To get rid of his importunity, a Minister had made him Consul in some remote village of the East, but finding that there were neither fees nor perquisites, Foglass had left his post to besiege the doors of Downing Street once more, and if rejected as a suppliant, to become an admirable grievance for a Radical Member, and a “very cruel case of oppression” for the morning papers. Foglass was essentially a “humbug;” but, unlike most, if not all other humbugs, without the smallest ingredient of any kind of ability. When men are said to live by their wits, their capital is, generally speaking, a very sufficient one; and that interesting class of persons known as adventurers numbers many clever talkers, shrewd observers, subtle tacticians, and admirable billiard-players; with a steady hand on a pistol, but ready to “pocket” either an “insult” or a “ball.” if the occasion require it. None of these gifts pertained to Foglass. He had not one of the qualities which either succeed in the world or in society, and yet, strange to say, this intolerable bore had a kind of popularity, that is to say, people gave him a vacant place at their dinners, and remembered him at picnics.