filled up by murmured questions to the smiling hostess: "Darrell! what!
the Darrell! Guy Darrell! greatest man of the day! A connection of
yours? Bless me, you don't say so?" Mrs. Haughton began to feel
nervous. Was Lionel right? Could the man who had only been a lawyer at
the back of Holborn really be, now, such a very, very great man--greatest
man of the day? Nonsense!

"Ma'am," said one pale, puff-cheeked, flat-nosed gentleman, in a very
large white waistcoat, who was waiting by her side till a vacancy in one
of the two whist-tables should occur. "Ma'am, I'm an enthusiastic
admirer of Mr. Darrell. You say he is a connection of yours? Present me
to him."

Mrs. Haughton nodded flutteringly, for, as the gentleman closed his
request, and tapped a large gold snuff-box, Darrell stood before her--
Lionel close at his side, looking positively sheepish. The great man
said a few civil words, and was gliding into the room to make way for the
press behind him, when he of the white waistcoat, touching Mrs.
Haughton's arm, and staring Darrell full in the face, said, very loud:
"In these anxious times, public men dispense with ceremony. I crave an
introduction to Mr. Darrell." Thus pressed, poor Mrs. Haughton, without
looking up, muttered out: "Mr. Adolphus Poole--Mr. Darrell," and turned
to welcome fresh comers.

"Mr. Darrell," said Mr. Poole, bowing to the ground, "this is an honour."

Darrell gave the speaker one glance of his keen eye, and thought to
himself: "If I were still at the bar I should be sorry to hold a brief
for that fellow." However, he returned the bow formally, and, bowing
again at the close of a highly complimentary address with which Mr. Poole