In the sixth center row sat an unexpected guest, his Classical Greek features stark in the yellow half light. A long shrill cat-call in the gallery seemed to be the signal. ‘I dropped the lantern,’ Jack’s muffled voice told her. Byrom,—a poet of whom his native town, Manchester, may be justly proud; and his features and figure have been preserved by the most illustrious of his companions on the present occasion,—Hogarth,—in the levée in the "Rake's Progress," and in "Southwark Fair. He growled in his throat and, thrusting his coat open, revealed his own buckled sword-belt. White caught her eye, and smiled benignly down the table.
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