“Nothing more agreeable. It was dull though, last season, very dull; I think the game cannot be kept going another year. If it were not for the General Election, we really must have a war for variety’s sake. Peace gets quite a bore. Everybody you dine with has a good cook, and gives you a dozen different wines, all perfect. We cannot bear this any longer; all the lights and shadows of life are lost. The only good thing I heard this year was an ancient gentlewoman going up to Gunter and asking him for ‘the receipt for that white stuff,’ pointing to his Roman punch. I, who am a great man for receipts, gave it her immediately: ‘One hod of mortar to one bottle of Noyau.’” “And did she thank you?” “Thank me! ay, truly; and pushed a card into my hand, so thick and sharp that it cut through my glove. I wore my arm in a sling for a month afterwards.” “And what was the card?” “Oh, you need not look so arch. The old lady was not even a faithless duenna. It was an invitation to an assembly, or something of the kind, at a place, somewhere, as Theodore Hook or Mr. Croker would say, ‘between Mesopotamia and Russell Square.’” “Pray, Mr. Grey, is it true that all the houses in Russell Square are tenantless?” “Quite true; the Marquess of Tavistock has given up the county in consequence. A perfect shame, is it not? Let us write it up.” “An admirable plan! but we will take the houses first, at a pepper-corn rent.” “What a pity, Miss Manvers, the fashion has gone out of selling oneself to the devil.” “Good gracious, Mr. Grey!” “On my honour, I am quite serious. It does appear to me to be a very great pity. What a capital plan for younger brothers! It is a kind of thing I have been trying to do all my life, and never could succeed. I began at school with toasted cheese and a pitchfork; and since then I have invoked, with all the eloquence of Goethe, the evil one in the solitude of the Hartz, but without success. I think I should make an excellent bargain with him: of course I do not mean that ugly vulgar savage with a fiery tail. Oh, no! Satan himself for me, a perfect gentleman! Or Belial: Belial would be the most delightful. He is the fine genius of the Inferno, I imagine, the Beranger of Pandemonium.” “I really cannot listen to such nonsense one moment longer. What would you have if Belial were here?” “Let us see. Now, you shall act the spirit, and I, Vivian Grey. I wish we had a short-hand writer here to take down the Incantation Scene. We would send it to Arnold. Commençons: Spirit! I will have a fair castle.” The lady bowed. “I will have a palace in town.” The lady bowed. “I will have a fair wife. Why, Miss Manvers, you forget to bow!” “I really beg your pardon!” “Come, this is a novel way of making an offer, and, I hope, a successful one.” “Julia, my dear,” cried a voice in the veranda, “Julia, my dear, I want you to walk with me.”