IT is somewhat more than a year and a half since Kenelm Chillingly left England, and the scene now is in London, during that earlier and more sociable season which precedes the Easter holidays,--season in which the charm of intellectual companionship is not yet withered away in the heated atmosphere of crowded rooms,--season in which parties are small, and conversation extends beyond the interchange of commonplace with one's next neighbour at a dinner-table,--season in which you have a fair chance of finding your warmest friends not absorbed by the superior claims of their chilliest acquaintances. There was what is called a /conversazione/ at the house of one of those Whig noblemen who yet …
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