He thought his wife had everything she could have expected, and a great deal more than she had any right to demand, but yet Hannah was not satisfied. As soon as they were settled in town, they commenced to give a series of magnificent parties, and their rooms were crowded with sycophantic guests, mostly of the middle class--the sort of people who will go anywhere--to whom a party means a dance, or a supper, and who care nothing who gives it, so long as it is given. His visitors satisfied the Baron, but the Marchesa had higher views--she aspired to see the aristocracy sitting round her dinner-table, and quoting her hospitality as the freest in London--her cook as the best to be got anywhere. It was all very well, she thought, to be entertaining Colonel and Mrs. Langley, or Mr. and Mrs. Belleville, but what use were they to her in return? She wanted Dukes and Duchesses and Earls and Countesses at her receptions, and to make them not only come, but _ask_ to come. She racked her clever brain over this many a time and oft, without letting her husband into the secret, and one day the opportunity came to her. She was receiving a number of ladies at afternoon tea, when the conversation suddenly turned on Spiritualism. The Marchesa, who was leaning back on a settee, arrayed in a tea-gown of maize coloured satin, trimmed with costly lace, affected to know nothing of the matter. “What is it?” she inquired, languidly, “nothing wicked, I hope, Mrs. Mostyn.” “O! dear me, no! Marchesa, how could you imagine such a thing?” replied her guest. “It is only a game, you know! Sitting round a table and making it spin and answer questions, and all such nonsense!” “It is a great deal more than that,” interposed an unmarried lady, named Selwyn, “it is a very serious thing! Spiritualism is raising the spirits of the Dead, and our clergyman, Mr. Tennant, says it is sorcery, and condemned by Scripture. My mamma will not hear of my having anything to do with it, which has been a great disappointment to me, for the Countess of Loreley----” “Well! if you are interested in the pursuit, I am sure there can be no need to wait for your mamma’s permission,” interrupted Mrs. Mostyn, rudely, “you are surely old enough to judge for yourself. I do think it is so ridiculous of mothers, trying to keep their grown-up daughters in leading strings. Why! I had a couple of children before I was your age!” “You were speaking of the Countess of Loreley,” said the Marchesa, with the apparent view of changing the conversation, “does her Ladyship take an interest in the subject?” “O! yes, she is quite wild about it,” replied Miss Selwyn, who was looking red and confused from Mrs. Mostyn’s attack; “and mamma has prevented my going there as often as usual, in consequence. Lady Loreley is my godmother, you know, and I used to be always at her house, but now----” “Has Mrs. Selwyn compelled you to give up the Countess’s acquaintance?” asked Hannah, indifferently.