"That little fat gentleman there," looking at Lord Alvanly, "whom you all suppose a mere idle, lazy man of genius, I am told studies _bon mots_ all night in his bed." (A laugh.) "Further, I have been led to understand, that being much lower down in the class than Mitchel, though of the same age, his lordship in the year eighteen hundred and something or other was chosen, raised, and selected, for his civil behaviour, to the situation of prime and first fag to Mr. Mitchel, in which said department, his lordship distinguished himself much, by the very high polish he put upon Mr. J. Mitchel's boots and shoes." There was not a word of truth in this story, the mere creation of Fanny's brain; yet still there was a probability about it, as they had been at school together, and which, added to Fanny's very pleasing, odd mode of expression, set the whole room in a roar of laughter. Alvanly was just as much amused as the rest; for Fanny's humour had no real severity in it at any time. "But, Fanny, you will make a point of cutting this grocer, I hope?" observed Brummell, as soon as the laugh had a little subsided. "Do pray, Fanny," said I, "cut your Mitchels. I vote for cutting all the grocers and valets who intrude themselves into good society." "My father was a very superior valet," Brummell quickly observed, "and kept his place all his life, and that is more than Palmerston will do," he continued, observing Lord Palmerston, who was in the act of making his bow to Amy, having just looked in on her from Lady Castlereagh's. "I don't want any of Lady Castlereagh's men," said Amy. "Let all those who prefer her Saturday-night to mine, stay with her." "Who on earth," said Luttrell, with his usual earnestness--"who on earth would think of Lady Castlereagh when they might be here?" "Why Brummell went there for an hour before he came here," said Alvanly. "Mr. Brummell had better go and pass a second hour with her ladyship," retorted Amy, "for we are really too full here." "I am going for one," I said, putting on my shawl; for I began to think it would not do to neglect Argyle altogether. I made use of one of the Russian's carriages, to which Brummell handed me. "To Argyle House, I suppose?" said Brummell, and then whispered in my ear, "You will be Duchess of Argyle, Harriette." I found Argyle at his door, with his key, a little impatient. I asked him why he did not go to Amy's. "I don't know your sister," answered his grace, "and I dislike what I have seen of her. She makes so many advances to me!" I defended my sister as warmly as though she had really treated me with kindness, and felt at that time seriously angry with the duke for abusing her. The next morning from my window I saw Amy drive up to my door, in the Count Palmella's barouche. "She wants me to write a copy of a letter for some of her men," thought I, well knowing that affection never brought Amy to visit me. "Are you alone?" asked Amy, bouncing into the room.