At the corner, near the old elm, leans little Tommy Gossip; everybody knows Tommy, and, what is worse, Tommy knows everybody and everything.
"Who's that, my dear boy?" says Tommy, as a green chariot dashes by, in which are seated a stout elderly lady and a companion; "that's the Duchess of St. Clare," and he lifts his hat. "She's the queen of fashion, my boy, and can make or mar a reputation with a word. Jingo! how she paints! Ha!" And here Tommy Gossip brightens up into a state of mild excitement. "Here she is!"
"Who? Why the beauty of the day, the new belle, the Ice Queen, as Madam White called her. By St. George, she grows more beautiful every day--and more pale."
And as he spoke he raised his hat, with an emphasis of reverence and eagerness, to an open carriage which slowly passed by.
In the carriage were seated three ladies.
Two of them were old, but one was superbly beautiful, with a beauty that was not only captivating but absorbing in its expression of pensive, resigned and dignified repose.
"There she goes! Look at the men. There's not a head covered, and there's not a heart, my boy, that would not jump out of its shoes at a smile from her. Who is she? Why she is the beauty and the belle and the mystery of London. Her name is Mildmay, Violet Mildmay. One of the old ladies with her is her aunt, Mrs. Mildmay. The other is a Mrs. Dodson--a relation of the family, some say, others a mother of that singular fellow, Leicester Dodson, Bertie Fairfax's sworn friend, who cut his throat down at some outlandish watering-place. Look, you see those two gentlemen, those riding toward us on horseback? That is Howard Murpoint, Esq."
"No, the young one; the old gentleman is Mr. Dodson, poor Leicester Dodson's father. No, the young one; watch his face, my lad, for it is the face of a great man. That man can command millions. He is chairman of the great Confederated Credit Company, and director of half a hundred companies besides."
At that moment, while Mr. Gossip was running on to the delight of the lad, a tall, golden-haired man came slowly by.
Tommy Gossip caught his arm as he passed.
"Hello, Bert, back again! Dine with us at the Theseus to-night?"
"I can't, I'm busy," said our old friend. "I'm very sorry. Ah, there is Miss Mildmay," and, dragging himself from the gossip he made his way to the carriage.