ch on the subject. But
what have you got to amuse to-day?"

"Oh! I shall do very well. I have got the head of the French detective
police to dine with me, and another man or two. Besides, I have got
here a most amusing book, 'Topsy Turvy;' it comes out in numbers. I like
books that come out in numbers, as there is a little suspense, and you
cannot deprive yourself of all interest by glancing at the last page of
the last volume. I think you must read 'Topsy Turvy,' Berengaria. I am
mistaken if you do not hear of it. It is very cynical, which authors,
who know a little of the world, are apt to be, and everything is
exaggerated, which is another of their faults when they are only a
trifle acquainted with manners. A little knowledge of the world is a
very dangerous thing, especially in literature. But it is clever, and
the man writes a capital style; and style is everything, especially in
fiction."

"And what is the name of the writer, Simon?"

"You never heard of it; I never did; but my secretary, who lives much in
Bohemia, and is a member of the Cosmopolitan and knows everything, tells
me he has written some things before, but they did not succeed. His name
is St. Barbe. I should like to ask him to dinner if I knew how to get at
him."

"Well, adieu! Simon," and, with an agitated heart, though apparent
calmness, she touched his forehead with her lips. "I expect an
unsatisfactory dinner."

"Adieu! and if you meet poor Ferrars, which I dare say you will, tell
him to keep up his spirits. The world is a wheel, and it will all come
round right."

The dinner ought not to have been unsatisfactory, for though there was
no novelty among the guests, they were all clever and distinguished
persons and united by entire sympathy. Several of the ministers were
there, and the Roehamptons, and Mr. Sidney Wilton, and Endymion was
also a guest. But the general tone was a little affected and unnatural;
forced gaiety, and a levity which displeased Lady Montfort, who fancied
she was unhappy because the country was going to be ruined, but whose
real cause of dissatisfaction at the bottom of her heart was the affair
of "the family seat." Her hero, Lord Roehampton, particularly did not
please her to-day. She thought him flippant and in bad taste, merely
because he would not look dismal and talk gloomily.

"I think we shall do very well," he said. "What cry can be better than
that of 'Cheap bread?' It gives one an appetite at once."

"Bu