“Well, if the bloom remain on the peach it would be well enough in your company, madam,” said Goldsmith, with a face of humorous gravity. “But a peach with the bloom off would be more congenial to the Pantheon after to-night.” He gave a glance in the direction of the group of actresses and their admirers. Mrs. Horneck looked serious, her two daughters looked demurely down. “The air is tainted,” said Goldsmith, solemnly. “Yes,” said Mrs. Bunbury, with a charming mock demureness. “'T is as you say: the Pantheon will soon become as amusing as Ranelagh.” “I said not so, madam,” cried Goldsmith, shaking-his head. “As amusing---amusing----” “As Ranelagh. Those were your exact words, Doctor, I assure you,” protested Little Comedy. “Were they not, Mary?” “Oh, undoubtedly those were his words--only he did not utter them,” replied the Jessamy Bride. “There, now, you will not surely deny your words in the face of two such witnesses!” said Mrs. Bunbury. “I could deny nothing to two such faces,” said Goldsmith, “even though one of the faces is that of a little dunce who could talk of Marius weeping over the Pantheon.” “And why should not he weep over the Pantheon if he saw good cause for it?” she inquired, with her chin in the air. “Ah, why not indeed? Only he was never within reach of it, my dear,” said Goldsmith. “Psha! I daresay Marius was no better than he need be,” cried the young lady. “Few men are even so good as it is necessary for them to be,” said Oliver. “That depends upon their own views as to the need of being good,” remarked Mary. “And so I say that Marius most likely made many excursions to the Pantheon without the knowledge of his biographer,” cried her sister, with an air of worldly wisdom of which a recent bride was so well qualified to be an exponent. “'Twere vain to attempt to contend against such wisdom,” said Goldsmith. “Nay, all things are possible, with a Professor of Ancient History to the Royal Academy of Arts,” said a lady who had come up with Burke at that moment--a small but very elegant lady with distinction in every movement, and withal having eyes sparkling with humour. Goldsmith bowed low--again over his fallen hat, on the crown of which Little Comedy set a very dainty foot with an aspect of the sweetest unconsciousness. She was a tom-boy down to the sole of that dainty foot. “In the presence of Mrs. Thrale,” Goldsmith began, but seeing the ill-treatment to which his hat was subjected, he became confused, and the compliment which he had been elaborating dwindled away in a murmur. “Is it not the business of a professor to contend with wisdom, Dr. Goldsmith?” said Mrs. Thrale. “Madam, if you say that it is so, I will prove that you are wrong by declining to argue out the matter with you,” said the Professor of Ancient History.