While Clarence was engaged in talking with this lady, a very pretty, lively, animated girl, with laughing blue eyes, which, joined to the dazzling fairness of her complexion, gave a Hebe-like youth to her features and expression, was led up to the said lady by a tall young man, and consigned, with the ceremonious bow of the vieille tour, to her protection. “Ah, Mr. Linden,” cried the young lady, “I am very glad to see you,--such a beautiful ball!--Everybody here that I most like. Have you had any refreshments, Mamma? But I need not ask, for I am sure you have not; do come, Mr. Linden will be our cavalier.” “Well, Flora, as you please,” said the elderly lady, with a proud and fond look at her beautiful daughter; and they proceeded to the refreshment-room. No sooner were they seated at one of the tables, than they were accosted by Lord St. George, a nobleman whom Clarence, before he left England, had met more than once at Mr. Talbot’s. “London,” said his lordship to her of the diamonds, “has not seemed like the same place since Lady Westborough arrived; your presence brings out all the other luminaries: and therefore a young acquaintance of mine--God bless me, there he is, seated by Lady Flora--very justly called you the ‘evening star.’” “Was that Mr. Linden’s pretty saying?” said Lady Westborough, smiling. “It was,” answered Lord St. George; “and, by the by, he is a very sensible, pleasant person, and greatly improved since he left England last.” “What!” said Lady Westborough, in a low tone (for Clarence, though in earnest conversation with Lady Flora, was within hearing), and making room for Lord St. George beside her, “what! did you know him before he went to ----? You can probably tell me, then, who--that is to say--what family he is exactly of--the Lindens of Devonshire, or--or--” “Why, really,” said Lord St. George, a little confused, for no man likes to be acquainted with persons whose pedigree he cannot explain, “I don’t know what may be his family: I met him at Talbot’s four or five years ago; he was then a mere boy, but he struck me as being very clever, and Talbot since told me that he was a nephew of his own.” “Talbot,” said Lady Westborough, musingly, “what Talbot?” “Oh! the Talbot--the ci-devant jeune homme!” “What, that charming, clever, animated old gentleman, who used to dress so oddly, and had been so celebrated a beau garcon in his day?” “Exactly so,” said Lord St. George, taking snuff, and delighted to find he had set his young acquaintance on so honourable a footing. “I did not know he was still alive,” said Lady Westborough, and then, turning her eyes towards Clarence and her daughter, she added carelessly, “Mr. Talbot is very rich, is he not?” “Rich as Croesus,” replied Lord St. George, with a sigh. “And Mr. Linden is his heir, I suppose?”