I listened at the outset, expecting to get some information. Our readings in modern history at Tadmor had informed us of the dominant political position of the middle classes in England, since the time of the first Reform Bill. Mr. Farnaby’s guests represented the respectable mediocrity of social position, the professional and commercial average of the nation. They all talked glibly enough--I and an old gentleman who sat next to me being the only listeners. I had spent the morning lazily in the smoking-room of the hotel, reading the day’s newspapers. And what did I hear now, when the politicians set in for their discussion? I heard the leading articles of the day’s newspapers translated into bald chat, and coolly addressed by one man to another, as if they were his own individual views on public affairs! This absurd imposture positively went the round of the table, received and respected by everybody with a stolid solemnity of make-believe which it was downright shameful to see. Not a man present said, “I saw that today in the _Times_ or the _Telegraph.”_ Not a man present had an opinion of his own; or, if he had an opinion, ventured to express it; or, if he knew nothing of the subject, was honest enough to say so. One enormous Sham, and everybody in a conspiracy to take it for the real thing: that is an accurate description of the state of political feeling among the representative men at Mr. Farnaby’s dinner. I am not judging rashly by one example only; I have been taken to clubs and public festivals, only to hear over and over again what I heard in Mr. Farnaby’s dining-room. Does it need any great foresight to see that such a state of things as this cannot last much longer, in a country which has not done with reforming itself yet? The time is coming, in England, when the people who _have_ opinions of their own will be heard, and when Parliament will be forced to open the door to them. This is a nice outbreak of republican freedom! What does my long-suffering friend think of it--waiting all the time to be presented to Mr. Farnaby’s niece? Everything in its place, Rufus. The niece followed the politics, at the time; and she shall follow them now. You shall hear first what my next neighbour said of her--a quaint old fellow, a retired doctor, if I remember correctly. He seemed to be as weary of the second-hand newspaper talk as I was; he quite sparkled and cheered up when I introduced the subject of Miss Regina. Have I mentioned her name yet? If not, here it is for you in full:--Miss Regina Mildmay.