"Yes!--the dresses are eccentric, are they not?--but that is part of our trade in London; if one cannot be famous--well, the greatest idiot can make himself conspicuous. Let us walk through the rooms to find Mrs. Taunton, or we'll miss her." Ronald, nothing loth, went off with his Mentor, and could not help laughing at the curiously dressed people he saw. One lady was arrayed in black velvet, trimmed with silver, and looked like a first-class coffin; while another in white, with large red rosettes down the front of her dress, had such square shoulders that she resembled nothing so much as a chest of drawers. Here and there were some pretty girls, but the general impression Ronald had was disappointment at the appearance of the ladies. "They're so deucedly ugly," he said in disgust. "Yes, they can't make their faces up properly," observed Foster, putting on his eye-glass; "they're all like very badly painted pictures--but that's a pretty woman over there." "Yes, by gad, she is," replied Ronald critically; "who is she?" "The lady we are in search of--Mrs. Taunton--come, and I'll introduce you to her." So Foster, followed by Ronald, pushed his way through the crowd towards Mrs. Taunton, who was standing with her husband, a tall round-shouldered man to whom she was talking in a vivacious manner. A very charming lady she was--small, fair-haired, and wonderfully bright and quick in her conversation and actions. Her face was wreathed with smiles, but during a pause in the conversation it was in repose for a moment, and then Ronald detected a shade of latent melancholy which reminded him somewhat of the sombre expression of his dead friend's face. "How do you do, Mrs. Taunton?" said Foster, when he reached her side; "I have not seen you for at least--let me see--a hundred years!" "If that is the case," replied the little lady, laughing, "you must have the gift of immortality, for you don't look a day older." "Nor you a minute," said Foster, with a bow. "Permit me to introduce to you my friend, Mr. Monteith; he is come from the wilds of Australia to see if civilization is an improvement on savagery." "Welcome to London, Mr. Monteith," said Mrs. Taunton, putting out her hand with a sunny smile; "I hope we shall be able to make your stay pleasant." "I'm sure of that," answered Ronald, heartily, "in such company it would be foolish not to enjoy myself." "What! they know how to make compliments in Australia?" "When they have a worthy object," with a bow. "Another! really, Mr. Monteith, you are a Sir Charles Grandison.' "I hope not," broke in Foster, who had been talking to Mr. Taunton; "he was a prig,--wouldn't be tolerated now-a-days; but then," shrugging his shoulders, "how could you expect a linen-draper to conceive a gentleman? It would be easier to make a silk purse out a sow's ear." "Poor Richardson," said the lady, with an amused look, "how severe you are on him. Mr. Monteith, pardon my rudeness; let me introduce to you my husband."