‘Well, you know,’ said his lordship, ’dear old Masham, that is his name, was at Weymouth this year; with whom do you think, of all people in the world?’

‘How should I know?  Why should I think about it, Henry?’

‘Why, with Herbert’s wife.’

‘What, that horrid woman?’

‘Yes, Lady Annabel.’

‘And where was his daughter?  Was she there?’

’Of course.  She has grown up, and a most beautiful creature they say she is; exactly like her father.’

‘Ah!  I shall always regret I never saw him,’ said her ladyship.

’Well, the daughter is in bad health; and so, after keeping her shut up all her life, the mother was obliged to take her to Weymouth; and Masham, who has a living in their neighbourhood, which, by-the-bye, Herbert gave him, and is their chaplain and counsellor, and friend of the family, and all that sort of thing, though I really believe he has always acted for the best, he was with them.  Well, the King took the greatest fancy to these Herberts; and the Queen, too, quite singled them out; and, in short, they were always with the royal family.  It ended by his Majesty making Masham his chaplain; and now he has made him a bishop.’

‘Very droll indeed,’ said her ladyship; ’and the drollest thing of all is, that he is now coming to dine here.’

‘Have you seen Cadurcis to-day?’ said Lord Monteagle.

‘Of course,’ said her ladyship.

‘He dines here?’

’To be sure.  I am reading his new poem; it will not be published till to-morrow.’

‘Is it good?’

‘Good!  What crude questions you do always ask, Henry!’ exclaimed Lady Monteagle.  ’Good!  Of course it is good.  It is something better than good.’

’But I mean is it as good as his other things?  Will it make as much noise as his last thing?’

’Thing!  Now, Henry, you know very well that if there be anything I dislike in the world, it is calling a poem a thing.’

’Well, my dear, you know I am no judge of poetry.  But if you are pleased, I am quite content.  There is a knock.  Some of your friends.  I am off.  I say, Gertrude, be kind to old Masham, that is a dear creature!’

Her ladyship extended her hand, to which his lordship pressed his lips, and just effected his escape as the servant announced a visitor, in the person of Mr. Horace Pole.

‘Oh! my dear Mr. Pole, I am quite exhausted,’ said her ladyship; ’I am reading Cadurcis’ new poem; it will not he published till to-morrow, and it really has destroyed my nerves.  I have got people to dinner to-day, and I am sure I shall not be able to encounter them.’

‘Something outrageous, I suppose,’ said Mr. Pole, with a sneer.  ’I wish Cadurcis would study Pope.’

‘Study Pope!  My dear Mr. Pole, you have no imagination.’

‘No, I have not, thank Heaven!’ drawled out Mr. Pole.

‘Well, do not let us have a quarrel about Cadurcis,’ said Lady Monteagle.  ‘All you men are jealous of him.’