Miss Horneck's face shone with appreciation of her dear friend's quickness; but the lively Mrs. Thrale was, as usual, too much engrossed in her own efforts to be brilliant to be able to pay any attention to the words of so clumsy a person as Oliver Goldsmith, and one who, moreover, declined to join with so many other distinguished persons in accepting her patronage. She found it to her advantage to launch into a series of sarcasms--most of which had been said at least once before--at the expense of the Duchess of Argyll and Lady Ancaster, and finding that Goldsmith was more busily, engaged in listening to Mrs. Bunbury's mock apologies for the injury she had done to his hat than in attending to her _jeux d'esprit_, she turned her back upon him, and gave Burke and Mrs. Horneck the benefit of her remarks. Goldsmith continued taking part in the fun made by Little Comedy, pointing out to her the details of his hat's disfigurement, when, suddenly turning in the direction of Mary Horneck, who was standing behind her mother, the jocular remark died on his lips. He saw the expression of dismay--worse than dismay--which was on the girl's face as she gazed across the rotunda. CHAPTER VII. Goldsmith followed the direction of her eyes and saw that their object was a man in the uniform of an officer, who was chatting with Mrs. Abingdon. He was a showily handsome man, though his face bore evidence of some dissipated years, and there was an undoubted swagger in his bearing. Meanwhile Goldsmith watched him. The man caught sight of Miss Horneck and gave a slight start, his jaw falling for an instant--only for an instant, however; then he recovered himself and made an elaborate bow to the girl across the room. Goldsmith turned to Miss Horneck and perceived that her face had become white; she returned very coldly the man's recognition, and only after the lapse of some seconds. Goldsmith possessed naturally both delicacy of feeling and tact. He did not allow the girl to see that he had been a witness of a _rencontre_ which evidently was painful to her; but he spoke to her sister, who was amusing her husband by a scarcely noticeable imitation of a certain great lady known to both of them; and, professing himself woefully ignorant as to the _personnel_ of the majority of the people who were present, inquired first what was the name of a gentleman wearing a star and talking to a group of apparently interested ladies, and then of the officer whom he had seen make that elaborate bow. Mrs. Bunbury was able to tell him who was the gentleman with the star, but after glancing casually at the other man, she shook her head. “I have never seen him before,” she said. “I don't think he can be any one in particular. The people whom we don't know are usually nobodies--until we come to know them.”