s at the interruption, I was struck with admiration.
For the smallest actions of these rare men of master passions so compel
us. He came to Dorothy, whom he seemed not to have perceived at first,
and there passed between them such a look of complete understanding that
I suddenly remembered Comyn's speech of the night before, "Now it is
Charles Fox." Here, indeed, was the man who might have won her. And yet
I did not hate him. Nay, I loved him from the first time he addressed
me. It was Dorothy who introduced us.

"I think I have heard of you, Mr. Carvel," he said, making a barely
perceptible wink at Comyn.

"And I think I have heard of you, Mr. Fox," I replied.

"The deuce you have, Mr. Carvel!" said he, and laughed. And Comyn
laughed, and Dorothy laughed, and I laughed. We were friends from that
moment.

"Richard has appeared amongst us like a comet," put in the ubiquitous Mr.
Manners, "and, I fear, intends to disappear in like manner."

"And where is the tail of this comet?" demanded Fox, instantly; "for I
understood there was a tail."

John Paul was brought up, and the Junior Lord of the Admiralty looked him
over from head to toe. And what, my dears, do you think he said to him?

"Have you ever acted, Captain Paul?"

The captain started back in surprise.

"Acted!" he exclaimed; "really, sir, I do not know. I have never been
upon the boards."

Mr. Fox vowed that he could act: that he was sure of it, from the
captain's appearance.

"And I, too, am sure of it, Mr. Fox," cried Dorothy; clapping her hands.
"Persuade him to stay awhile in London, that you may have him at your
next theatricals at Holland House. Why, he knows Shakespeare and Pope
and--and Chaucer by heart, and Ovid and Horace,--is it not so, Mr.
Walpole?"

"Is not what so, my dear young lady?" asked Mr. Walpole, pretending not
to have heard.

"There!" exclaimed Dolly, pouting, when the laughter had subsided; "you
make believe to care something about me, and yet will not listen to what
I say."

I had seen at her feet our own Maryland gallants, the longest of whose
reputations stretched barely from the James to the Schuylkill; but here
in London men were hanging on her words whose names were familiarly
spoken in Paris, and Rome, and Geneva. Not a topic was broached by Mr.
Walpole or Mr. Fox, from the remonstrance of the Archbishop against
masquerades and the coming marriage of my Lord Albemarle to the rights
and wrongs of Mr. Wilkes, but my