Of course the letter had gone. She heard of it before the commencement of the dinner, after Mrs. Adister had introduced Captain Philip O'Donnell to her, and while she was exchanging a word or two with Colonel Adister, who stood ready to conduct her to the table. If he addressed any remarks to the lady under his charge, Miss Mattock did not hear him; and she listened--who shall say why? His unlike likeness to his brother had struck her. Patrick opposite was flowing in speech. But Captain Philip O'Donnell's taciturnity seemed no uncivil gloom: it wore nothing of that look of being beneath the table, which some of our good English are guilty of at their social festivities, or of towering aloof a Matterhorn above it, in the style of Colonel Adister. Her discourse with the latter amused her passing reflections. They started a subject, and he punctuated her observations, or she his, and so they speedily ran to earth. 'I think,' says she, 'you were in Egypt this time last winter.' He supplies her with a comma: 'Rather later.' Then he carries on the line. 'Dull enough, if you don't have the right sort of travelling crew in your boat.' 'Naturally,' she puts her semicolon, ominous of the full stop. 'I fancy you have never been in Egypt?' 'No' There it is; for the tone betrays no curiosity about Egypt and her Nile, and he is led to suppose that she has a distaste for foreign places. Condescending to attempt to please, which he has reason to wish to succeed in doing, the task of pursuing conversational intercourse devolves upon him-- 'I missed Parlatti last spring. What opinion have you formed of her?' 'I know her only by name at present.' 'Ah, I fancy you are indifferent to Opera.' 'Not at all; I enjoy it. I was as busy then as I am now.' 'Meetings? Dorcas, so forth.' 'Not Dorcas, I assure you. You might join if you would.' 'Your most obliged.'