Mr. Overtop observed, first with regret and then with pride, that their withdrawal into a corner elicited looks of surprise and curiosity, not unmingled with envy, from the little group that hovered about the refreshment table, and drank Mrs. Slapman’s fine wines, and laughed and joked together.  He was glad to see that his two friends sauntered through the parlors, examining the pictures and articles of taste which caught the eye on every side; and that Mr. Quigg was engrossed in the examination of some books on a centre table, opening them, and smoothing their fair pages with his hand as if they were ledgers.

“You see that stout man with the double chin—­the one drinking champagne, to the left of the table?  That is Mr. Scrymser, a gentleman who has made several aeronautic excursions, and talked about a balloon voyage to Europe last year.  You may remember his portrait, and plans of his air ship, in the illustrated papers.”

“I do,” said Overtop; “and also that he didn’t go.”  “Precisely.  Some trouble about the currents, I believe.  You note that small man, with the sharp face—­the one sipping a glass, to the right of the table?  That is Mr. Boskirk, inventor of the ’Submarine Summer House,’ a species of diving bell, which is to be owned and managed by a Joint-Stock Company.  I have promised to take a few shares in the concern.”

“Excuse the digression, madam,” said Overtop, “but ought not these two gentlemen to change places in life?  Is not the heavy one peculiarly adapted to the diving bell, and the light one to the balloon?”

Mrs. Slapman smiled, and looked faintly surprised, as if the remark were unworthy of her guest.  “Probably you know that gentleman under the picture of a landscape, talking very earnestly to another gentleman, who seems to want to be getting away.”

“The man with the long, curly, red hair?  I know his face well, and, though I have no further knowledge of him, am morally certain that he is a social reformer.”

“Why?” asked Mrs. Slapman.

“Because I never saw a man with long, curly, red hair, who was not a social reformer.  Men with red hair—­the true carrot tint, I mean—­have a natural propensity for reform.  Some of them repress it, but others give rein to their inclinations, go into the reform business, and hang out their curls as a sign to all mankind.  And all mankind interpret it as readily as they do the striped pole in front of a barber’s shop.”

“A striking thought, truly, and full of TRUTH,” said Mrs. Slapman.  “I will mention it to Mr. Gormit.  On reflection, however, I won’t.  I might wound his feelings, for he is an exquisitely sensitive creature.  As you have ingeniously discovered, he is a social reformer.  At present he is only known to the public as the editor of the ‘Humanitarian Harbinger;’ but his select circle of friends are well aware that he is devoting his ripened genius to the production of a work called the ’Progressional Principia,’ which will be in four volumes, and exhaust the whole subject of social science.  This immense undertaking is a favorite subject of his ordinary conversation.  He is probably, at this very moment, giving a general outline of the book to that gentleman on his right.