have you confound with a club in London of the same name). He is a
bachelor, but not of arts, no mean epigrammatist (as you shall see),
and a favourite of the ladies. He is almost a celebrity in
restaurants, where he dines frequently, returning to sup; and during
this last year he has probably paid as much in them for the
privilege of handing his hat to an attendant as the rent of a
working-man's flat. He complains brightly that he is hard up, and
that if somebody or other at Westminster does not look out the
country will go to the dogs. He is no fool. He has the shrewdness to
float with the current because it is a labour-saving process, but he
has sufficient pluck to fight, if fight he must (a brief contest,
for he would soon be toppled over). He has a light nature, which
would enable him to bob up cheerily in new conditions and return
unaltered to the old ones. His selfishness is his most endearing
quality. If he has his way he will spend his life like a cat in
pushing his betters out of the soft places, and until he is old he
will be fondled in the process.

He gives his hat to one footman and his cane to another, and mounts
the great staircase unassisted and undirected. As a nephew of the
house he need show no credentials even to Crichton, who is guarding
a door above.

It would not be good taste to describe Crichton, who is only a
servant; if to the scandal of all good houses he is to stand out as
a figure in the play, he must do it on his own, as they say in the
pantry and the boudoir.

We are not going to help him. We have had misgivings ever since we
found his name in the title, and we shall keep him out of his rights