"Something!" said Lady Harriett, indignantly; "he will be Lord
Glenmorris! and he is son to Lady Frances Pelham."

"Ah," said the lisper, carelessly; "but can he write poetry, and play
proverbes?"

"No, Lady Harriett," said I, advancing; "but permit me, through you, to
assure Lady Nelthorpe that he can admire those who do."

"So you know me then?" said the lisper: "I see we shall be excellent
friends;" and disengaging herself from Lady Harriett, she took my arm,
and began discussing persons and things, poetry and china, French plays
and music, till I found myself beside her at dinner, and most assiduously
endeavouring to silence her by the superior engrossments of a bechamelle
de poisson.

I took the opportunity of the pause, to survey the little circle of which
Lady Harriett was the centre. In the first place, there was Mr. Davison,
a great political economist, a short, dark, corpulent gentleman, with a
quiet, serene, sleepy countenance, which put me exceedingly in mind of my
grandmother's arm-chair; beside him was a quick, sharp little woman, all
sparkle and bustle, glancing a small, grey, prying eye round the table,
with a most restless activity: this, as Lady Nelthorpe afterwards
informed me, was a Miss Trafford, an excellent person for a Christmas in
the country, whom every body was dying to have: she was an admirable
mimic, an admirable actress, and an admirable reciter; made poetry and
shoes, and told fortunes by the cards, which came actually true.

There was also Mr. Wormwood, the noli-me-tangere of literary lions--an