circumstantial evidence is very strong."

"Baker!" said Vivian, turning to a servant, "go and inquire if Mr.
Stapylton Toad dines at the Castle to-day."

A flourish of trumpets announced the rise of the Marchioness of Carabas,
and in a few minutes the most ornamental portion of the guests had
disappeared. The gentlemen made a general "move up," and Vivian found
himself opposite his friend, Mr. Hargrave.

"Ah! Mr. Hargrave, how d'ye do? What do you think of the Secretary's
state paper?"

"A magnificent composition, and quite unanswerable. I was just speaking
of it to my friend here, Mr. Metternich Scribe. Allow me to introduce
you to Mr. Metternich Scribe."

"Mr. Metternich Scribe, Mr. Vivian Grey!" and here Mr. Hargrave
introduced Vivian to an effeminate-looking, perfumed young man, with a
handsome, unmeaning face and very white hands; in short, as dapper a
little diplomatist as ever tattled about the Congress of Verona, smirked
at Lady Almack's supper after the Opera, or vowed "that Richmond Terrace
was a most convenient situation for official men."

"We have had it with us some time before the public received it," said
the future under-secretary, with a look at once condescending and
conceited.

"Have you?" said Vivian: "well, it does your office credit. It is a
singular thing that Canning and Croker are the only official men who can