Aunt Isabel, at the head of the table, is radiant as usual, and dispenses roast turkey and smiles with equal alacrity. She is carving with even more than her customary vigour and well-known proficiency, while at the same time she is listening to and adding a word here and there to every topic under discussion. She is, however, particularly attentive to Miss Lobin, who sits beside her, and who is as deaf as a post; though no trouble to any one except herself, poor lady, as she seeks not for conversation, and as long as she gets a bit of everything mentioned in the _menu_, is perfectly content. There are two or three stray men from the neighbouring barracks scattered up and down; and these, with the three Misses Brighton--who being evidently not cut out by mother Nature for the civil service, have been considered suitable to ask to meet them--make up the party. 'Well, Cis, you had a pleasant day, I hope?' says Uncle Charlie, presently addressing his favourite niece. 'A delicious day, dear uncle; only we wound up with a misfortune. I was stupid enough to hurt Captain Halkett's horse on my way home through the Park; though indeed I scarcely think it was my fault. However, as it _was_ to happen, we were lucky in having it occur at the end, instead of the beginning of our day, as we had our ride in spite of it.' As she makes this little speech, she never once glances at Halkett (indeed she has taken no notice of him since the commencement of dinner), and purposely treats the whole thing as unworthy of regret. Halkett, contrasting her pretty contrition of the morning with this off-hand dismissal of the matter, is, manlike, thoroughly mystified. 'I am sorry to hear of an accident,' says Uncle Charlie, who holds all good animals dear to his heart.--'Nothing serious, I hope, Frank?' 'A mere scratch,' returns Halkett carelessly. 'That is right. It could not have happened through any great desire on the rider's part to reach her home, as she delayed her return so long we all imagined an elopement had taken place. But there was no such excitement in store for us.--I do think, as your guardian and uncle, Cis, I have every right to know what you and the major were talking of all that time.' 'Politics,' says the major lightly; 'we never talk anything but politics.--Do we, Miss Mordaunt?' Here Blake dodges to one side of the epergne, that he may the more surely get a full view of Miss Mordaunt's face. '_Never_,' replies Cissy emphatically, dodging the epergne in her turn; and then they both laugh. Here Halkett mutters something under his breath that is so far audible as to rouse the silly young lady by his side into some kind of life. She sighs and uplifts her head. 'Were you speaking to me?' she asks in a somewhat startled tone.