On the threshold stood Hannah--arrayed as he had never seen her before--as he had not believed it possible she would ever think of arraying herself! Her abundant hair, which she had gone to a coiffeur to have dressed, was piled upon the top of her head, thus adding height to her stature--her coarse complexion had received a touch of powder, which softened its natural bloom. On her back she wore a white dress, hanging in straight folds from her shoulders to her feet, and thus leaving her waist and general contour undefined, whilst above it rose her well-covered, pinky neck and arms--looking very youthful and healthy, if somewhat countrified. Had Hannah added jewellry to this new attire, she would have spoilt it and herself. But luckily for her appearance, she had none to wear--the white, straight, unadorned dress and her abundant hair were positively her only ornaments, and strange to say, notwithstanding her birth and antecedents, she looked exceedingly well in them. Her manners, also, seemed improved to match her dress. Instead of grinning from ear to ear, as was her wont when pleased, she stood like a young Juno on the threshold, as if she knew she was there to confer a favour, not to receive one. She almost took Von Steinberg’s breath away, but he managed to collect himself and murmur, “My dear Hannah!----” “The Marchesa di Sorrento, if you please!” she replied, and taking her cue, he turned, and presenting her to his guests, repeated, “Allow me to introduce to you, the Marchesa di Sorrento, who has been charming enough to come here for our amusement this evening. Marchesa!” he added, turning to Hannah, “can I offer you nothing in the shape of refreshment, before you undertake your arduous duties on our behalf?” “Nothing--nothing!” replied Hannah, as she sank into the seat he offered her. “And how is the Marchese?” demanded Von Steinberg, willing to humour her, whilst his eyes were roving all the while over her pink neck and rounded arms. “Is he feeling pretty well? I was so sorry he would not join us to-night!” “It is better so! He is not very well,” replied the Marchesa, in a low, modulated voice. The doctors’ wives, who had come to the gathering in high dresses, and lace caps, were beginning to wonder by this time, if they had done wrong and whether the Marchesa would consider they had committed a breach of etiquette. They sidled up to the Baron and whispered him to present them more particularly to his friend, and then they tried to “pump” Hannah as to her spiritualistic powers and how she developed them, but the Marchesa was unusually silent. Von Steinberg, who had rather dreaded her becoming communicative, could not sufficiently admire her reticence; she was a deucedly sight cleverer than he had ever given her credit for, he said to himself--and in order that the favourable impression she had evidently made, might be kept up, he was not long in leading the way to the séance room.