Lady Fitz-pompey determined that the young Duke should make his debut at
once, and at her house. Although it was yet January, she did not despair
of collecting a select band of guests, Brahmins of the highest caste.
Some choice spirits were in office, like her lord, and therefore in
town; others were only passing through; but no one caught a flying-fish
with more dexterity than the Countess. The notice was short, the whole
was unstudied. It was a felicitous impromptu, and twenty guests were
assembled, who were the Corinthian capitals of the temple of fashion.
There was the Premier, who was invited, not because he was a minister,
but because he was a hero. There was another Duke not less celebrated,
whose palace was a breathing shrine which sent forth the oracles of
mode. True, he had ceased to be a young Duke; but he might be consoled
for the vanished lustre of youth by the recollection that he had enjoyed
it, and by the present inspiration of an accomplished manhood. There
were the Prince and the Princess Protocoli: his Highness a first-rate
diplomatist, unrivalled for his management of an opera; and his consort,
with a countenance like Cleopatra and a tiara like a constellation,
famed alike for her shawls and her snuff.
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