‘And I hope we shall not separate so soon,’ said Coningsby; ‘I was much struck with what you said just now about the Reform Bill. Do you know that the more I think the more I am perplexed by what is meant by Representation?’ ‘It is a principle of which a limited definition is only current in this country,’ said Sidonia, quitting the room with him. ‘People may be represented without periodical elections of neighbours who are incapable to maintain their interests, and strangers who are unwilling.’ The entrance of the gentlemen produced the same effect on the saloon as sunrise on the world; universal animation, a general though gentle stir. The Grand-duke, bowing to every one, devoted himself to the daughter of Lady St. Julians, who herself pinned Lord Beaumanoir before he could reach Mrs. Guy Flouncey. Coningsby instead talked nonsense to that lady. Brilliant cavaliers, including Mr. Melton, addressed a band of beautiful damsels grouped on a large ottoman. Everywhere sounded a delicious murmur, broken occasionally by a silver-sounding laugh not too loud. Sidonia and Lord Eskdale did not join the ladies. They stood for a few moments in conversation, and then threw themselves on a sofa. ‘Who is that?’ asked Sidonia of his companion rather earnestly, as Coningsby quitted them. ‘’Tis the grandson of Monmouth; young Coningsby.’ ‘Ah! The new generation then promises. I met him once before, by chance; he interests me.’ ‘They tell me he is a lively lad. He is a prodigious favourite here, and I should not be surprised if Monmouth made him his heir.’ ‘I hope he does not dream of inheritance,’ said Sidonia. ‘’Tis the most enervating of visions.’ ‘Do you admire Lady Augustina St. Julians?’ said Mrs. Guy Flouncey to Coningsby. ‘I admire no one except yourself.’ ‘Oh! how very gallant, Mr. Coningsby!’ ‘When should men be gallant, if not to the brilliant and the beautiful!’ said Coningsby. ‘Ah! you are laughing at me.’ ‘No, I am not. I am quite grave.’ ‘Your eyes laugh. Now tell me, Mr. Coningsby, Lord Henry Sydney is a very great friend of yours?’ ‘Very.’ ‘He is very amiable.’ ‘Very.’ ‘He does a great deal for the poor at Beaumanoir. A very fine place, is it not?’ ‘Very.’ ‘As fine as Coningsby?’ ‘At present, with Mrs. Guy Flouncey at Coningsby, Beaumanoir would have no chance.’ ‘Ah! you laugh at me again! Now tell me, Mr. Coningsby, what do you think we shall do to-night? I look upon you, you know, as the real arbiter of our destinies.’ ‘You shall decide,’ said Coningsby. ‘Mon cher Harry,’ said Madame Colonna, coming up, ‘they wish Lucretia to sing and she will not. You must ask her, she cannot refuse you.’ ‘I assure you she can,’ said Coningsby. ‘Mon cher Harry, your grandpapa did desire me to beg you to ask her to sing.’ So Coningsby unwillingly approached Lucretia, who was talking with the Russian Ambassador. ‘I am sent upon a fruitless mission,’ said Coningsby, looking at her, and catching her glance.