‘What, Masham!  Doctor Masham!’ continued Lord Cadurcis.

‘Assuredly.’

Lord Cadurcis changed colour, and even sighed.  He rose rather quickly, and said, ‘I must go and speak to him.’

So, quitting Lady Monteagle, he crossed the room, and with all the simplicity of old days, which instantly returned on him, those melancholy eyes sparkling with animation, and that languid form quick with excitement, he caught the Doctor’s glance, and shook his extended hand with a heartiness which astonished the surrounding spectators, accustomed to the elaborate listlessness of his usual manner.

‘My dear Doctor! my dear Lord!  I am glad to say,’ said Cadurcis, ’this is the greatest and the most unexpected pleasure I ever received.  Of all persons in the world, you are the one whom I was most anxious to meet.’

The good Bishop appeared not less gratified with the rencounter than Cadurcis himself; but, in the midst of their mutual congratulations, dinner was announced and served; and, in due order, Lord Cadurcis found himself attending that fine lady, whom Mr. Horace Pole had, in jest, suggested should be the object of his services; while Mr. Pole himself was seated opposite to him at table.

The lady, remembering all Mr. Pole’s intimations, was really much frightened; she at first could scarcely reply to the casual observations of her neighbour, and quite resolved not to eat anything.  But his lively and voluble conversation, his perfectly unaffected manner, and the nonchalance with which he helped himself to every dish that was offered him, soon reassured her.  Her voice became a little firmer, her manner less embarrassed, and she even began meditating a delicate assault upon a fricassee.

‘Are you going to Ranelagh to-night?’ inquired Lord Cadurcis; ’I think I shall take a round.  There is nothing like amusement; it is the only thing worth living for; and I thank my destiny I am easily amused.  We must persuade Lady Monteagle to go with us.  Let us make a party, and return and sup.  I like a supper; nothing in the world more charming than a supper,

  A lobster salad, and champagne and chat.

That is life, and delightful.  Why, really, my dear madam, you eat nothing.  You will never be able to endure the fatigues of a Ranelagh campaign on the sustenance of a pate.  Pole, my good fellow, will you take a glass of wine?  We had a pleasant party yesterday at Fanshawe’s, and apparently a capital dinner.  I was sorry that I could not play my part; but I have led rather a raking life lately.  We must go and dine with him again.’