the guests, and caught the eye of a gentleman in the front ranks. He
stood side by side with Sir Patrick--a striking representative of the
school that is among us--as Sir Patrick was a striking representative of
the school that has passed away.

The modern gentleman was young and florid, tall and strong. The parting
of his curly Saxon locks began in the center of his forehead, traveled
over the top of his head, and ended, rigidly-central, at the ruddy nape
of his neck. His features were as perfectly regular and as perfectly
unintelligent as human features can be. His expression preserved an
immovable composure wonderful to behold. The muscles of his brawny arms
showed through the sleeves of his light summer coat. He was deep in the
chest, thin in the flanks, firm on the legs--in two words a magnificent
human animal, wrought up to the highest pitch of physical development,
from head to foot. This was Mr. Geoffrey Delamayn--commonly called "the
honorable;" and meriting that distinction in more ways than one. He was
honorable, in the first place, as being the son (second son) of that
once-rising solicitor, who was now Lord Holchester. He was honorable,
in the second place, as having won the highest popular distinction which
the educational system of modern England can bestow--he had pulled the
stroke-oar in a University boat-race. Add to this, that nobody had ever
seen him read any thing but a newspaper, and that nobody had ever
known him to be backward in settling a bet--and the picture of this
distinguished young Englishman will be, for the present, complete.

Blanche's eye naturally rested on him. Blanche's voice naturally picked
him out as the first player on her side.

"I choose Mr. Delamayn," she said.