"Unfortunately, no," observed Felix, mournfully; "but we may find a Vivian Grey."
Everyone smothered a smile, the illusion was so patent.
"Well, he didn't succeed in the end," cried Paterson.
"Of course he didn't," retorted Felix, disdainfully; "he made an enemy of a woman, and a man who is such a fool as to do that deserves to fall."
"You have an excellent opinion of our sex, Mr. Rolleston," said Madge, with a wicked glance at the wife of that gentleman, who was listening complacently to her husband's aimless chatter.
"No better than they deserve," replied Rolleston, gallantly.
"But you have never gone in for politics, Mr. Frettlby?"
"Who?—I—no," said the host, rousing himself out of the brown study into which he had fallen. "I'm afraid I'm not sufficiently patriotic, and my business did not permit me."
"And now?"
"Now," echoed Mr. Frettlby, glancing at his daughter, "I am going to travel."
"The jolliest thing out," said Paterson eagerly. "One never tires seeing the queer things there are in the world."
"I've seen queer enough things in Melbourne in the early days," said the old colonist, a wicked twinkle in his eyes.
"Oh!" cried Julia, putting her hands up to her ears, "don't tell me them for I'm sure they're naughty."
"We wern't saints then," said Old Valpy, with a senile chuckle.
"Ah, then, we haven't changed much in that respect," retorted Frettlby, dryly.
"You talk of your theatres now,' went on Valpy, with the garrulousness of old age; "why, you haven't got a dancer like Rosanna."
Brian started on hearing this name again, and he felt Madge's cold hand touch his.
"And who was Rosanna?" asked Felix, curiously, looking up.
"A dancer and burlesque actress," replied Valpy, vivaciously nodding his old head. "Such a beauty; we were all mad about her—such hair and eyes. You remember her, Frettlby?"
