"They're so deucedly ugly," he said in disgust.
"Yes, they can't make their faces up properly," observed Foster, putting on his eye-glass; "they're all like very badly painted pictures--but that's a pretty woman over there."
"Yes, by gad, she is," replied Ronald critically; "who is she?"
"The lady we are in search of--Mrs. Taunton--come, and I'll introduce you to her."
So Foster, followed by Ronald, pushed his way through the crowd towards Mrs. Taunton, who was standing with her husband, a tall round-shouldered man to whom she was talking in a vivacious manner. A very charming lady she was--small, fair-haired, and wonderfully bright and quick in her conversation and actions. Her face was wreathed with smiles, but during a pause in the conversation it was in repose for a moment, and then Ronald detected a shade of latent melancholy which reminded him somewhat of the sombre expression of his dead friend's face.
"How do you do, Mrs. Taunton?" said Foster, when he reached her side; "I have not seen you for at least--let me see--a hundred years!"
"If that is the case," replied the little lady, laughing, "you must have the gift of immortality, for you don't look a day older."
"Nor you a minute," said Foster, with a bow. "Permit me to introduce to you my friend, Mr. Monteith; he is come from the wilds of Australia to see if civilization is an improvement on savagery."
"Welcome to London, Mr. Monteith," said Mrs. Taunton, putting out her hand with a sunny smile; "I hope we shall be able to make your stay pleasant."
"I'm sure of that," answered Ronald, heartily, "in such company it would be foolish not to enjoy myself."