"Dear, dear!" observed a ponderous Britannia, fanning her red face with her shield, "how hot it is to be sure! I wonder if there's such a thing as an ice to be had?" "Or champagne?" said a faded-looking Dawn sitting near her. "I'm positively dying for champagne." "Young men are so selfish," sighed Britannia, looking in vain for a friendly face; "they come to my dances, but never think of looking after me when I'm not in my own house. One might starve for all they care, and an ice----" "Would, no doubt, save you from such a fate," said a languid voice, as a tall, heavily-built man, in a monkish dress, paused near the representative of the British Empire. "Come then, Mrs. Trubbles, and I'll get you one." "Dear me, Mr. Gartney," observed Mrs. Trubbles, shifting her trident to her left hand in order to welcome Eustace. "Well, I am astonished." "At seeing me here, or at my dress? Both things rather extraordinary, I must confess. I'm rather fond of fancy dress balls, all the same. It's so pleasant to see one's friends making fools of themselves." "How unamiable, Mr. Gartney," said Dawn, screwing her wrinkled face into what was meant for a fascinating smile. "But how true, Mrs. Dills," responded Gartney, with a bow, "but I see both you ladies are longing for supper, so perhaps I can make myself useful." "Indeed you can," said both eagerly, rising and taking an arm each. "I feel like the royal arms, between the lion and the unicorn," remarked Eustace, jestingly. "No, indeed," said Mrs. Dills, who set up for being a wit, "we've got the lion between us. But what might you be, Mr. Gartney?" "Rabelais." "What's Rabelais? cried Britannia, with a faint idea it might be something to eat. "Rabelais," explained Eustace, gravely, "was the creator of Pantagruel and Gargantua." "I never heard of him," said Mrs. Dills crossly, being in want of her supper. "Oh, fame! fame!" "Bother fame," observed Mrs. Trubbles, as the two ladies sat down at the table. "I would give the fame of Nebuchadnezzar for a good meal." "You shall have it and without such a sacrifice," said Eustace, assisting Dawn and Britannia plenteously; "by-the-way, isn't Miss Sheldon with you, to-night?" "Yes Flora Macdonald, whoever she was," said Mrs. Trubbles, heavily, "she's with that young Macjean. Do you remember him at Como, Mr. Gartney? He's in a Scotch dress to-night." "Bonnie Prince Charlie, I suppose?" "Or a tobacconist's sign," said Mrs. Dills who was an adept at saying nasty things. "By-the-way, Mr. Gartney, isn't the company rather mixed?" Mrs. Dills' papa had been an opulent linen-draper, and Mr. Dills had made his money by a speciality in sheets, so she thought herself quite justified in criticising aristocratic society. Eustace knew all about Mrs. Dills, and was so amused by the little woman's insolence, that he did not reply half so severely as he had intended to do.