‘Ah! Flamwell, my dear fellow, how d’ye do?’ said Mr. Malderton, as a little spoffish man, with green spectacles, entered the room. ‘You got my note?’
‘Yes, I did; and here I am in consequence.’
‘You don’t happen to know this Mr. Sparkins by name? You know everybody?’
Mr. Flamwell was one of those gentlemen of remarkably extensive information whom one occasionally meets in society, who pretend to know everybody, but in reality know nobody. At Malderton’s, where any stories about great people were received with a greedy ear, he was an especial favourite; and, knowing the kind of people he had to deal with, he carried his passion of claiming acquaintance with everybody, to the most immoderate length. He had rather a singular way of telling his greatest lies in a parenthesis, and with an air of self-denial, as if he feared being thought egotistical.
‘Why, no, I don’t know him by that name,’ returned Flamwell, in a low tone, and with an air of immense importance. ‘I have no doubt I know him, though. Is he tall?’
‘Middle-sized,’ said Miss Teresa.
‘With black hair?’ inquired Flamwell, hazarding a bold guess.
‘Yes,’ returned Miss Teresa, eagerly.
‘Rather a snub nose?’
‘No,’ said the disappointed Teresa, ‘he has a Roman nose.’