"

"Oh, yes," drawled FitzHoward. "I haven't minded it for a time, just
while Eames has been away."

"You're much too idle to keep at it, I know; but your bread will be
buttered for you elsewhere, so it doesn't signify. My compliments to
the duchess when you see her." Then FitzHoward went. "And how's my
dear old friend?" asked Sir Raffle, as though of all men living Lord
De Guest were the one for whom he had the strongest and the oldest
love. And yet he must have known that John Eames knew as much about
it as he did himself. But there are men who have the most lively
gratification in calling lords and marquises their friends, though
they know that nobody believes a word of what they say,--even though
they know how great is the odium they incur, and how lasting is the
ridicule which their vanity produces. It is a gentle insanity which
prevails in the outer courts of every aristocracy; and as it brings
with itself considerable annoyance and but a lukewarm pleasure, it
should not be treated with too keen a severity.

"And how's my dear old friend?" Eames assured him that his dear old
friend was all right, that Lady Julia was all right, that the dear
old place was all right. Sir Raffle now spoke as though the "dear
old place" were quite well known to him. "Was the game doing pretty
well? Was there a promise of birds?" Sir Raffle's anxiety was quite
intense, and expressed with almost familiar affection. "And,
by-the-by, Eames, where are you living at present?"

"Well, I'm not settled. I'm at the Great Western Railway Hotel at
this moment."

"Capital house, very; only it's expensive if you stay there the whole
season." Johnny had no idea of remaining there beyond one night, but
he said nothing as to this. "By-the-by, you might as well come and
dine with us to-morrow. Lady Buffle is most anxious to know you.
There'll be one or two with us. I did ask my friend Dumbello, but
there's some nonsense going on in the House, and he thinks that he
can't get away." Johnny was more gracious than Lord Dumbello, and
accepted the invitation. "I wonder what Lady Buffle will be like?"
he said to himself, as he walked away from the office.

He had turned into the Great Western Hotel, not as yet knowing where
to look for a home; and there we will leave him, eating his solitary
mutton-chop at one of those tables which are so comfortable to the
eye, but which are so comfortless in reality. I speak not now with
reference to the excellent e