“If he is fit for respectable society? Oh yes. He goes everywhere in London. Like Disraeli, he stands on his head, for his genius—and he has great genius—has opened all the drawing-rooms of Belgravia to him. Oh, he is quite proper.” “Still, still!” objected the Rector. “Well, what objection have you yet to him, my dear sir?” “I’m afraid, I’m afraid,” whispered Carriston, looking apprehensively at Maurice, “that he loves Eunice.” “Impossible!” “Oh, I’m not so old but what I can see the signs and tokens of love; and, placed on my guard by a casual glance, I noticed Eunice and your poet particularly at dinner.” “In that case,” said Maurice coolly, “I’m afraid Crispin will have to put up with Mrs. Dengelton as a mother-in-law.” The Rector laughed again, and they entered the drawing-room. CHAPTER II. DE RERUM PARVULA. The smallest actions in a life Betray the calm or inward strife: From idle straws, as persons know, One learns the way the breezes blow; You love those Florentine mosaics, Yet tiny stones the picture makes. Complying with this rule’s demand, Whate’er is meant you’ll understand, So follow carefully this chatter, And you’ll discover what’s the matter. The three persons who occupied the drawing-room were all employed according to their different natures, for Crispin, being an ardent musician, was seated at the piano, playing softly. Eunice, who rarely spoke, was listening, and the Hon. Mrs. Dengelton was talking as usual. She was always talking, but never by any chance said anything worth listening to. With her it was all quantity and no quality. For, wherever she was, in drawing-room, theatre, or park, her sharp strident voice could be heard all over the place. Certainly she was silent in church, but it must have been an effort for her to hold her tongue, and she fully made up for it when she was outside the door, by chattering all the way home. Scandal said she had talked her husband dead and her daughter silent; and certainly the Hon. Guy Dengelton was safe in the family vault, while Eunice, as a rule, said very little. Mrs. Dengelton knew every one and everything, and, were it the fashion to write memoirs, after the mode of the eighteenth century, she could have produced a book which would have made a sensation, and been suppressed—after the first edition. Owing to her incessant stream of small talk, she was known in society as “The Parrot,” a name which exactly fitted her, as she had a hook nose, beady eyes, and always dressed in gay colors. Add to this description her _esprit_, as she called it, but which scandal said was French for the vulgar American word “jaw,” and you have a faithful portrait of the most dreaded woman in London.