At least Monteith found it so, as he leaned against the wall, and listened to Foster's cynical comments on all who passed along, mostly friends of his own; but, after all, what is the use of having friends if one can't abuse them?
"You see that bald-headed old chap there?" said Signor Asmodeus Foster, who was about to unroof his friends' houses for the benefit of the Australian, "the one with the gaunt female beside him--she was his daughter's governess, and married him by force; she bullies the life out of him, and if he but look at another woman--a thing, by the way, the old scamp is very fond of doing--he catches it when he gets home. That pretty little woman in white is Lady Aspasia, who was not as good as she might be--once--but now she's married and gives good dinners, so Society doesn't rake up her little failures in the past. We are a very generous people when there's money in the question. That young dandy, with the simper and the eye-glass, is Bertie Hardup, who a year ago had not a shilling--his face was his fortune, and a mighty nice income it brought him, for he married Miss McNab, the Scotch heiress, who has red hair and a long pedigree; he doesn't care a fig about her, and keeps Musidora, of the Frivolity, out of McNab's money. By Jove, my dear fellow, all these people have their skeletons, and if they could only become visible, you'd see every one of them attended by a bony figure like those in the Dance of Death."
"Rather a ghastly assemblage," said Ronald, absently.
"Not at all," replied his companion; "bless you, we love our skeletons, and, in the middle of the night, take them out and discuss our private affairs with them; then we lock them up in the little dark cupboards again, and only hear the faint rattle of their bones during the day."
Ronald laughed.
"You are cynical!"
"The fault of the world my dear boy. I would like to go through life keeping all my youthful illusions, but the world won t let me--it has destroyed all my dreams of honour and honesty one by one till--pouf!--it has made me as disbelieving as St. Thomas."
"What strange people are here," said Ronald, looking at the restless crowd.
"Yes!--the dresses are eccentric, are they not?--but that is part of our trade in London; if one cannot be famous--well, the greatest idiot can make himself conspicuous. Let us walk through the rooms to find Mrs. Taunton, or we'll miss her."
Ronald, nothing loth, went off with his Mentor, and could not help laughing at the curiously dressed people he saw. One lady was arrayed in black velvet, trimmed with silver, and looked like a first-class coffin; while another in white, with large red rosettes down the front of her dress, had such square shoulders that she resembled nothing so much as a chest of drawers. Here and there were some pretty girls, but the general impression Ronald had was disappointment at the appearance of the ladies.