“My dear Puff! I am quite glad to find you here,” said Mr. Cayenne, a celebrated reviewer, to Mr. Partenopex Puff, a small author and smaller wit. “Have you seen Middle Ages lately?” “Not very lately,” drawled Mr. Partenopex, “I breakfasted with him before I left town, and met a Professor Bopp there, a very interesting man, and Principal of the celebrated University of Heligoland, the model of the London.” “Ah, indeed! talking of the London, is Foaming Fudge to come in for Cloudland?” “Doubtless! Oh! he is a prodigious fellow! What do you think Booby says? He says that Foaming Fudge can do more than any man in Great Britain; that he had one day to plead in the King’s Bench, spout at a tavern, speak in the House, and fight a duel; and that he found time for everything but the last.” “Excellent!” laughed Mr. Cayenne. Mr. Partenopex Puff was reputed, in a certain set, a sayer of good things, but he was a modest wit, and generally fathered his bon mots on his valet Booby, his monkey, or his parrot. “I saw you in the last number,” said Cayenne. “From the quotations from your own works, I imagine the review of your own book was by yourself?” “What do you think Booby said?” “Mr. Puff, allow me to introduce you to Lord Alhambra,” said Ernest Clay, by which means Mr. Puff’s servant’s last good thing was lost. “Mr. Clay, are you an archer?” asked Cynthia Courtown. “No, fair Dian; but I can act Endymion.” “I don’t know what you mean. Go away.” “Aubrey Vere, welcome to ----shire. Have you seen Prima Donna?” “No; is he here? How did you like his last song in the Age?” “His last song! Pooh! pooh! he only supplies the scandal.” “Groves,” said Sir Hanway Etherington, “have you seen the newspaper this morning? Baron Crupper has tried fifteen men for horse-stealing at York, and acquitted every one.” “Well then, Sir Hanway, I think his Lordship’s remarkable wrong; for when a man gets a horse to suit him, if he loses it, ‘tisn’t so easy to suit himself again. That’s the ground I stand upon.” All this time the Marquess of Carabas had wanted Vivian Grey twenty times, but that gentleman had not appeared. The important moment arrived, and his Lordship offered his arm to Mrs. Million, who, as the Gotha Almanack says, “takes precedence of all Archduchesses, Grand Duchesses, Duchesses, Princesses, Landgravines, Margravines, Palsgravines, &c. &c. &c.” CHAPTER XIII In their passage to the Hall, the Marquess and Mrs. Million met Vivian Grey, booted and spurred, and covered with mud. “Oh! Mrs. Million--Mr. Vivian Grey. How is this, my dear fellow? you will be too late.” “Immense honour!” said Vivian, bowing to the ground to the lady. “Oh! my Lord I was late, and made a short cut over Fearnley Bog. It has proved a very Moscow expedition. However, I am keeping you. I shall be in time for the guava and liqueurs, and you know that is the only refreshment I ever take.” “Who is that, Marquess?” asked Mrs. Million.