Mr. St. John made his special compliments to Mrs. Steele, and so charmed her that she declared she would have Steele a Tory too.

“Or will you have me a Whig?” says Mr. St. John.  “I think, madam, you could convert a man to anything.”

“If Mr. St. John ever comes to Bloomsbury Square I will teach him what I know,” says Mrs. Steele, dropping her handsome eyes.  “Do you know Bloomsbury Square?”

“Do I know the Mall?  Do I know the Opera?  Do I know the reigning toast?  Why, Bloomsbury is the very height of the mode,” says Mr. St. John.  “’Tis rus in urbe.  You have gardens all the way to Hampstead, and palaces round about you—­Southampton House and Montague House.”

“Where you wretches go and fight duels,” cries Mrs. Steele.

“Of which the ladies are the cause!” says her entertainer.  “Madam, is Dick a good swordsman?  How charming the ‘Tatler’ is!  We all recognized your portrait in the 49th number, and I have been dying to know you ever since I read it.  ’Aspasia must be allowed to be the first of the beauteous order of love.’  Doth not the passage run so?  ’In this accomplished lady love is the constant effect, though it is never the design; yet though her mien carries much more invitation than command, to behold her is an immediate check to loose behavior, and to love her is a liberal education.’”

“Oh, indeed!” says Mrs. Steele, who did not seem to understand a word of what the gentleman was saying.

“Who could fail to be accomplished under such a mistress?” says Mr. St. John, still gallant and bowing.

“Mistress! upon my word, sir!” cries the lady.  “If you mean me, sir, I would have you know that I am the Captain’s wife.”

“Sure we all know it,” answers Mr. St. John, keeping his countenance very gravely; and Steele broke in saying, “’Twas not about Mrs. Steele I writ that paper—­though I am sure she is worthy of any compliment I can pay her—­but of the Lady Elizabeth Hastings.”

“I hear Mr. Addison is equally famous as a wit and a poet,” says Mr. St. John.  “Is it true that his hand is to be found in your ‘Tatler,’ Mr. Steele?”

“Whether ’tis the sublime or the humorous, no man can come near him,” cries Steele.

“A fig, Dick, for your Mr. Addison!” cries out his lady:  “a gentleman who gives himself such airs and holds his head so high now.  I hope your ladyship thinks as I do:  I can’t bear those very fair men with white eyelashes—­a black man for me.” (All the black men at table applauded, and made Mrs. Steele a bow for this compliment.) “As for this Mr. Addison,” she went on, “he comes to dine with the Captain sometimes, never says a word to me, and then they walk up stairs both tipsy, to a dish of tea.  I remember your Mr. Addison when he had but one coat to his back, and that with a patch at the elbow.”

“Indeed—­a patch at the elbow!  You interest me,” says Mr. St. John.  “’Tis charming to hear of one man of letters from the charming wife of another.”