res" cup she had herself painted was the subject of a
heresy as astounding. We live in an age of movement and convulsion, no
man's landmarks are safe now, and Mrs. Ricketts knew this.

The Onslows, it was clear, would not know her; it only remained, then,
to show why she would not know them. It was a rare thing to find a
family settling down at Florence against whom a "true bill" might not
easily be found of previous misconduct. Few left England without a
reason that might readily become an allegation. Bankruptcy or divorce
were the light offences; the higher ones we must not speak of. Now
the Onslows, as it happened, were not in this category. Sir Stafford's
character was unimpeachable, her Ladyship's had nothing more grave
against it than the ordinary levities of her station. George "had gone
the pace," it was true, but nothing disreputable attached to him. There
was no use, there fore, in "trying back" for a charge, and Mrs. Ricketts
perceived that they must be arraigned on the very vaguest of evidence.
Many a head has fallen beneath the guillotine for a suspicion, and many
a heart been broken on a surmise!

A little dinner at the Villino opened the plan of proceedings. It was
a small auto-da-fe of character at which the Onslows were to be the
victims, while the grand inquisitors were worthily represented by the
Polish Count, Haggerstone, Purvis, and a certain Mr. Foglass, then
passing through Florence on his way to England. This gentleman, who was
the reputed son of a supposed son of George the Fourth, was received as
"very good royalty" in certain circles abroad, and, by virtue of a wig,
a portly chest, and a most imposing pomposity of manner, taken to be
exceedingly like his grandfather, just on the same principle as red
currant jelly makes middling mutton resemble venison.

To get rid of his importunity, a Minister had made him Consul in some
remote village of the East, but finding that there were neither fees nor
perquisites, Foglass had left his post to besiege the doors of Downing
Street once more, and if rejected as a suppliant, to become an admirable
grievance for a Radical Member, and a "very cruel case of oppression"
for the morning papers.

Foglass was essentially a "humbug;" but, unlike most, if not all other
humbugs, without the smallest ingredient of any kind of ability.
When men are said to live by their wits, their capital is, generally
speaking, a very sufficient one; and that interesting class o