“But the whole thing is based on false pretences, my lord. Can I get you a glass of champagne?” and he ducked his head between two women who were talking loudly and munching incessantly. “Parties like these are Zoo entertainments at which the pranks of some animal are to be viewed; it is either a foreign prince, a cowboy, or a monkey.” “Very often,” added Lionel, sipping his champagne, “it is not so original, and only consists of personal interests; this one is going to be introduced to a member of Parliament; a woman is going to meet her lover; a man to see his future bride. There is very little sociability in our social bazaars, I assure you.” “Do you see that man leaning against the marble mantelpiece, my lord? That is old Watson telling a funny story to Lord Petersham.” “The story must be highly flavoured, for Lord Petersham is shaking with laughter.” “Do not be mistaken, my lord, his lordship never laughs at another man’s story—I know him well—he is bursting now with a joke he will tell old Watson when he has stopped laughing.” “My dear Dan, we are the rudest nation on earth. We stick lightning conductors on the statues of our great men, and walk on people’s toes, only apologising when we happen to know them personally. The nobodies are insolent, because they wish you to think them somebodies; and the somebodies are arrogant, for they want you well to understand that you are nobodies.” “The room is emptying, my lord, the sun has withdrawn its rays and the flowers are drooping their tired petals.” “Let us be off then!” and Lionel laid his hand on Danford’s shoulder. “There is old Lady Pendelton being wheeled across the hall by her footman—unless it is her nephew, Lord Robert. She pompously looks round as she proceeds between the two rows of gazers. She is the epilogue of this comedy—a sort of ‘God Save the King’ unsung! This is all impossible, my dear fellow; this old woman, Mrs Webster, is played out in our new era, and the dowagers of the Pendelton kind have no place, any more in our reformed London.” The two men left the house and walked into St James’s Park. “I shall give a party, Dick—something out of the common.” “Yes, my lord; they will accept from you what they would shirk from anyone else.” “How ever could these people imagine that our present state of nature would admit of these social crushes? Why, the notion of rubbing against one’s neighbour ought to have deterred them from crowding into these rooms.”