"What a charming photograph that is of you in evening
dress," she said to Lionel. "Really, I've had to lock away my copy of it; girls are such thieves nowadays; they think nothing of picking up what pleases them and popping it in their pockets." And therewith Lady Adela turned to Mr. Quirk, with whom she had been talking; and the new-comers passed on, and found themselves in a corner from whence they could survey the room.
The first glance revealed to Lionel that, if all the talents were there, the "quality" was conspicuously absent.
"I know hardly anybody here," he said, in an undertone, to Mangan.
"Oh, I know some of them," was the answer, also in an undertone. "Rather small lions—I think she might have done better with proper guidance. But perhaps this is only a beginning. Isn't your friend Quirk a picture? Who is the remarkably handsome girl just beyond?"
"That's Lady Adela's sister, Lady Sybil."
"The composer? I see; that's why she's talking to that portentous old ass, Schweinkopf, the musical critic. Then there's Miss Gabrielle Grey—poor thing! she's not very pretty—'I was not good enough for man, and so am given to'—publishers. By Jove, there's Ichabod—standing by the door; don't you know him?—Egerton—but they call him Ichabod at the Garrick. Now, what could our hostess expect to get out of Ichabod? He has nothing left to him but biting his nails like the senile Pope or Pagan in the 'Pilgrim's Progress.'"
"What does he do?"
"He is a reviewer, et prœterea nihil. Some twenty years ago he wrote two or three novels, but people wouldn't look at them, and so he became morose about the public taste and modern literature. In fact, there has been no English literature—for twenty years; this is his wail and moan whenever an editor allows him to lift up his voice. It was feeble on the part of your friend to ask Ichabod; she won't get anything out of him. I can see a reason for most of the others—those whom I know; but Ichabod is hopeless."
Mangan suddenly ceased these careless comments; his attention was arrested by the entrance of a tall young lady who came in very quietly—without being announced even.