Talbot had been that schoolfellow of William Henry already spoken of, who was a poetaster like himself. More fortunate, however, in worldly circumstances, he had succeeded to a small estate in Ireland, where he lived, save when he occasionally came to London for a week or two for pleasure. On one occasion William Henry had ventured to bring the young man to Norfolk Street, but he had been received with such scant civility by the master of the house that the visit had not been repeated. That Mr. Erin should have given himself the trouble to recall his name spoke volumes of Shakespearean autograph. ‘Thank you, sir; Talbot is to be in town for a few days at the Blue Bear in the Strand, I believe.’ ‘I beg if you see him, then, that you will give him my compliments,’ said Mr. Erin graciously. The transformation was quite magical. It was as though some humble wight dwelling in the shadow of King Bulcinoso’s displeasure had suddenly become first favourite, and, instead of receiving buffets, had been given his Majesty’s hand to kiss. Margaret had never liked her uncle so much as in this new character, and was indignant with her cousin that he did not respond to his father’s kindness with more enthusiasm. ‘If he had behaved so to me, Willie, I should have met him half way,’ she afterwards said reprovingly. ‘Yes,’ answered the young man gravely, ‘because you would have known that he loved you for your own sake.’ Then with a gentle sigh he added, ‘Why don’t _you_ meet _me_ half way, Maggie?’ She did not indeed reply as he would have had her, but her tender glance betrayed that if she had not got half way, she was on the road to meet him. He went away to his work as usual, but by no means in his usual frame of mind. Nor were those he left behind him less moved by his late proceedings than himself. Before midday the parlour in Norfolk Street was the reception room of quite a throng of dilettanti, some summoned that very morning by Mr. Erin’s special invitation. The new-found deed was handed round among these enthusiasts as a new-born babe, heir to millions, but about whom there are some doubts as to its legitimacy, might be received by a select circle of female gossips, while the proprietor, like a husband confident in his wife’s fidelity, regards their investigations with a complacent smile. They examined it tenderly but with great caution, through spectacles of every description, and in silence befitting so momentous an occasion; yet by their countenances, lit by a certain ‘fearful joy,’ it was easy to see that upon the whole they were satisfied—nay glutted—by the inspection. [Illustration: THE DILETTANTI.] ‘Well, gentlemen?’ inquired Mr. Erin with mock humility—a mere pretence of submission to a possible adverse opinion. ‘What say you, my dear Sir Frederick, what is your verdict?’