nion, 'I don't know your name. Tell all these good people your
name; your two names! I like people with two names. Tell them, my dear,
tell them; tell them your name, Mrs. Thingabob, or whatever it is, Mrs.
Thingabob Twoshoes.'

Mrs. Montgomery Floyd, though rather annoyed by this appeal, still
contrived to comply with the request in the most dignified manner; and
all the servants bowed to Mrs. Montgomery Floyd.

To the great satisfaction of this stately dame, Lady Bellair, after
scanning everything and everybody with the utmost scrutiny, indicated
some intention of entering, when suddenly she turned round:

'Man, there's something wanting. I had three things to take charge of.
The parrot and my charming friend; that is only two. There is a third.
What is it? You don't know! Here, you man, who are you? Mr. Temple's
servant. I knew your master when he was not as high as that cage. What
do you think of that?' continued her ladyship, with a triumphant smile.
'What do you laugh at, sir? Did you ever see a woman ninety years
old before? That I would wager you have not. What do I want? I want
something. Why do you tease me by not remembering what I want? Now, I
knew a gentleman who made his fortune by once remembering what a very
great man wanted. But then the great man was a minister of state. I dare
say if I were a minister of state, instead of an old woman ninety years
of age, you would contrive somehow or other to find out what I wanted.
Never mind, never mind. Come, my charming friend, let me take your
arm. Now I will introduce you to the prettiest, the dearest, the most
innocent and charming lady in the world. She is my greatest favourite.
She is always my favourite. You are my favourite, too; but you are only
my favourite for the moment. I always have two favourites: one for the
moment, and one that I never change, and that is my sweet Henrietta
Temple. You see I can remember her name, though I couldn't yours. But
you are a good creature, a dear good soul, though you live in a bad
set, my dear, a very bad set indeed; vulgar people, my dear; they may
be rich, but they have no _ton_. This is a fine place. Stop, stop,' Lady
Bellair exclaimed, stamping her little foot and shaking her little arm,
'Don't drive away; I remember what it was. Gregory! run, Gregory! It is
the page! There was no room for him behind, and I told him to lie under
the seat. Poor dear boy! He must be smothered. I hope he is not dead.
Oh! there he is