In truth, the viscount and the heiress were a very handsome couple; and notwithstanding all the envy felt for them, all eyes followed them with secret admiration.  The beautiful Claudia was a rare type of the young American girl—­tall, slender, graceful, dark-haired, dark-eyed, with a rich, glowing bloom on cheeks and lips.  And her snow white dress of misty lace over shining satin, and her gleaming pearls and sparkling diamonds, set off her beauty well.  Vincent was a fine specimen of the young English gentleman—­tall, broad-chouldered, deep-chested; with a stately head; a fair, roseate complexion; light-brown, curling hair and beard; and clear, blue eyes.  And his simple evening dress of speckless black became him well.  His manners were graceful, his voice pleasant, and his conversation brilliant; but, alas, for Claudia! the greatest charm he possessed for her was—­his title!  Claudia knew another, handsomer, more graceful, more brilliant than this viscount; but that other was unknown, untitled, and unnamed in the world.  The viscount was so engaged with his beautiful companion that it was some time before he observed that the company was dropping off and the room was half empty.  He then led Miss Merlin back to her party, took a slight leave of them all, bowed to the President, and departed.

Judge Merlin, who had only waited for his daughter, now arose to go.  His party made their adieus and left the saloon.  As so many of the guests had already gone, they found the halls and anterooms comparatively free of crowds, and easily made their way to the gentlemen’s cloakroom and the ladies’ dressing room, and thence to the entrance hall.  Mr. Middleton went out to call the carriage, which was near at hand.  And the whole party entered and drove homeward.  The sky had not cleared, the drizzle still continued; but the lamps gleamed brightly through the raindrops, and the Avenue was as gay at midnight as it had been at midday.  As the carriage rolled along, Judge Merlin and Mr. and Mrs. Middleton discussed the reception, the President, the company, and especially the young English viscount.

“He is the son and heir of the Earl of Hurstmonceux, whose estates lie somewhere in the rich county of Sussex.  The title did not come to the present earl in the direct line of descent.  The late earl died childless, at a very advanced age; and the title fell to his distant relation, Lord Banff, the father of this young man, whose estates lie away up in the north of Scotland somewhere.  Thus the Scottish Lord Banff became Earl of Hurstmonceux, and his eldest son, our new acquaintance, took the second title in the family, and became Lord Vincent,” said Judge Merlin.

“The English minister gave you this information?” inquired Mr. Middleton.

“Yes, he did; I suppose he thought it but right to put me in possession of all such facts in relation to a young foreigner whom he had been instrumental in introducing to my family.  But, by the way, Middleton—­Hurstmonceux?  Was not that the title of the young dowager countess whom Brudenell married, and parted with, years ago?”