A smart natty-looking little man in evening-dress, with smoothly-brushed hair and elaborately-trimmed whiskers, faint pink coral studs, little jean boots with glazed tips, irreproachable gloves, and a Gibus hat--a little man who looked as if he had just stepped out of a bandbox--stopped at Lord Dollamore's table, and with a bow, half-deferential, half-familiar, glided into the vacant chair.

"Ah, how do you do, Mr. Aldermaston?" said Lord Dollamore, looking up,--"how do you do? and what is the latest news in this Inferno?"

Every one who knew Mr. Aldermaston made a point of asking him the news, well knowing that they could apply to no better source for the latest gossip and tittle-tattle. Mr. Aldermaston nominally was private secretary to Lord Waterhouse, the First Commissioner at the Inland, Irrigation Office, and he had been selected for that onerous post for his distinguished personal appearance and his obsequious toadyism. It was not a situation involving a great deal of work, though any one noticing the regularity with which a large leather despatch-box, bearing a gilt crown, and "Charles Aldermaston, Esq., P.S., I.I.O.," was deposited for him by an official messenger in the hall of the Alfred Club, might have thought otherwise. The inferior portion of the duty was performed by a clerk, and Mr. Aldermaston contented himself with taking Lord Waterhouse's signature to a few papers occasionally, and receiving a select few of the most distinguished persons who wished for personal interviews. This left him plenty of leisure to pursue his more amusing occupation of purveyor of gossip and inventor and retailer of scandal. In these capacities he was without a rival. He always knew everything; and if he did not know it, he invented it, which in some respects was better, as it enabled him to flavour his anecdotes with a piquancy which was perhaps wanting in the original. He found occupation for his ears and tongue in a variety of topics; the heaviest subjects were not excluded, the lightest obtained a place in his répertoire. The rumour of the approaching change in the premiership, while passing through the Aldermaston crucible, encountered the report of Mademoiselle de la Normandie's refusal to dance her pas seul before Madame Rivière; the report of Lady Propagand's conversion to Romanism did not prevent Mr. Aldermaston's giving proper additional publicity to the whisper of Miss de Toddler's flight with the milkman.

There were not many people who liked Mr. Aldermaston, though there were a great many who feared him; but Lord Dollamore was among the former class. "He is a blagueur," Dollamore used to say; "and a blagueur is a detestable beast; but necessary to society; and Aldermaston is certainly clean. He knows how to behave himself, and is in fact an Ananias of polite society. Besides, he amuses me, and there are very few people in the world who amuse me."

So Lord Dollamore always spoke to Mr. Aldermaston at the club, and encouraged him to tell his anecdotes; and when he found him at Baden, he looked upon him as one of the resources of the place,-a purveyor of news infinitely fresher, more piquant, and more amusing than was to be found in the week-old Times or three-days-old Galignani, which he found at Misses Marx's library.

So he again repeated, "And what's the latest news in this Inferno, Mr. Aldermaston?"

"Well, there's very little news here, my lord, very little indeed; except that young Lord Plaidington is gone--sent away this morning."

"Sent away?"

"Yes; his mother, Lady Macabaw, wouldn't stand it any longer. Last night Lord Plaidington took too much again, and began throwing the empty champagne-bottles out of the window of the Angleterre; so Lady Macabaw sent him off this morning with his tutor, the Rev. Sandford Merton, and they've gone to Strasburg, on the way to Italy."

"Serve him right, the young cub. I went away early last night--any heavy play late?"