many of the figures looked as if they could speak if they tried."
"Upon my word," Lord Lambeth rejoined, "you see people at London parties that look as if they couldn't speak if they tried."
"Do you think Mr. Woodley could find us Mr. Beaumont?" asked Mrs. Westgate.
Lord Lambeth stared and looked round him. "I dare say he could. Beaumont often comes here. Don't you think you could find him, Woodley? Make a dive into the crowd."
"Thank you; I have had enough diving," said Willie Woodley. "I will wait till Mr. Beaumont comes to the surface."
"I will bring him to see you," said Lord Lambeth; "where are you staying?"
"You will find the address in my letter—Jones's Hotel."
"Oh, one of those places just out of Piccadilly? Beastly hole, isn't it?" Lord Lambeth inquired.
"I believe it's the best hotel in London," said Mrs. Westgate.
"But they give you awful rubbish to eat, don't they?" his lordship went on.
"Yes," said Mrs. Westgate.
"I always feel so sorry for the people that come up to town and go to live in those places," con-
