oilettes for their dinner.

Their hostess received her relations with a warmth which her husband's
praises of her sister-in-law and niece had originally prompted, but
which their appearance and manners instantly confirmed. As all the
Earl's children were married, their party consisted to-day only of
themselves; but it was a happy and agreeable meeting, for every
one was desirous of being amiable. To be sure they had not many
recollections or associations in common, and no one recurred to the
past; but London, and the history of its fleeting hours, was an
inexhaustible source of amusing conversation; and the Countess seemed
resolved that Venetia should have a brilliant season; that she should
be much amused and much admired. Lady Annabel, however, put in a plea
for moderation, at least until Venetia was presented; but that the
Countess declared must be at the next drawing-room, which was early in
the ensuing week. Venetia listened to glittering narratives of balls
and routs, operas and theatres, breakfasts and masquerades, Ranelagh
and the Pantheon, with the same smiling composure as if she had been
accustomed to them all her life, instead of having been shut up in
a garden, with no livelier or brighter companions than birds and
flowers.

After dinner, as her aunt and uncle and Lady Annabel sat round the
fire, talking of her maternal grandfather, a subject which did not at
all interest her, Venetia stole from her chair to a table in a distant
part of the room, and turned over some books and music that were lying
upon it. Among these was a literary journal, which she touched almost
by accident, and which opened, with the name of Lord Cadurcis on the
top of its page. This, of course, instantly attracted her attention.
Her eye passed hastily over some sentences which greatly astonished
her, and, extending her arm for a chair without quitting the book,
she was soon deeply absorbed by the marvels which rapidly unfolded
themselves to her. The article in question was an elaborate criticism
as well of the career as the works of the noble poet; for, indeed, as
Venetia now learnt, they were inseparably blended. She gathered from
these pages a faint and hasty yet not altogether unfaithful conception
of the strange revolution that had occurred in the character,
pursuits, and position of her former companion. In that mighty
metropolis, whose wealth and luxury and power had that morning so
vividly impressed themselves upon her consc