SCENE II.--_New Year's Eve at Latterday Hall. In the magnificent

dining-room are seated at dinner a large, well-known, and incongruous company. The Ghosts are chatting away in the most genial manner with the living distinguished people, and positively making the "celebrities" quite "at home."_ DANIEL DERONDA _shows a marked liking for_ DODO, _whom he has taken to dinner, and is indulging in a light and airy flirtation with her, which takes a form peculiar to himself_.

_Daniel Deronda_ (_earnestly_). Who has ever pinched into its pilulous smallness the cobweb of matrimonial duty? Honesty is surely the broadest basis of joy in life.

_Dodo_ (_a modern Detail in accordion pleating, subject to morbid fits of irrelevant skirt-dancing_). Oh, Mr. DERONDA, what a silly girl I am! I can't bear that proverb about "Honesty being the best policy." It sounds like a sort of life Insurance.

[_Giggles contemporarily._ DORIAN GRAY _having taken_ JULIET _to dinner, and not getting on with her very well, is staring with unfeigned horror at_ ROCHESTER, _opposite, who is bullying_ JANE EYRE _to a pitiable extent. Behind him is a screen of gilt Spanish leather, wrought with a rather florid Louis Seize design and encrusted with pearls, moonstones, and large green emeralds_.

_Dorian_ (_aside, to_ Young Subaltern, _who has come Home. On leave. For Christmas_). Who _is_ that dreadful man?

_Young Subaltern._ Who? Old ROCHESTER? Oh, he's a Plain Hero. From the past. He's all right. How well you're looking! Younger than ever, by Jove! Which is curious. But why that absurd buttonhole?

_Dorian_ (_hurt_). You never like anything I wear. You Anglo-Indians are corrupt without being charming. This is a fault.

[_Arranges his fringe in an old Dutch-silver mirror on the opposite mantelpiece, framed in curiously-carved ivory Cupids, and studded with precious stones, chiefly opals, sapphires, and chrysoberyls._

_Ethel Newcome_ (_to_ Secretary). Who are those two pretty American girls? They seem to be attracting a great deal of attention. (_I_ am completely forgotten, I notice.) Do their dresses come from Paris?

_Secretary._ No. I think not, dear Miss NEWCOME. From Messrs. HOWELLS AND JAMES, I fancy.

_Richard Feverel_ (_cheerily, across the table to_ Mr. PICKWICK). In tolerance of some dithyrambic inebriety--quiverings of semi-narration--we seem to be entering the circle of a most magnetic pseudo-polarity. Don't we?

_Mr. Pickwick_ (_puzzled_). Very kind of you to say so, I'm sure. May I have the pleasure of taking wine with you?

[_Dinner proceeds with animation._ BOOTLES' Baby, Little JIM, PAUL DOMBEY, _and the_ Heavenly Twins _come in to dessert, and are more or less troublesome_.

_Sir Lyon_ (_aside, to_ Secretary, _when the ladies have retired_). I say, you know I am afraid this is going to hang fire. It's nothing less than a miracle for a social affair to go off well when the people are not in the same set. Old PICKWICK's been asking for "a wassail bowl." I haven't got such a thing about me; and I should have thought '74 champagne would have been good enough, but he says it's like our humour--_too new_! The children are bothering to know why there isn't a Christmas-tree.

_Secretary._ Tell them to go to the--Haymarket. The reward will be--swift. Might I suggest mistletoe? I should be very pleased to go under it with Madame BOVARY, just to show the others how to----

_Sir Lyon_ (_stiffly_). Much obliged, but I will not give you that trouble. If _anyone_ goes under the mistletoe with Madame BOVARY it will be myself. Remember that.

_Secretary._ Oh, certainly! I merely meant----How about crackers? I could set the thing going by pulling one with Miss OLIVIA. The old Vicar said just now, in his pointed, Gothic way, something about times having changed, and----

_Sir Lyon._ Yes, we'll have crackers, but you can leave _me_ to pull the first one with Miss OLIVIA. It would look better. Perhaps we'd better let the Ghosts give their entertainment now--eh?

_Secretary._ I'll arrange it at once.