“The option is yours to listen. The Queen, when young, was sweetly pretty; a divine complexion; and a habit of smiling on everybody. I presume that the young Habral, son of the first magistrate of Lisbon, was also smiled on. Most innocently, I would swear! But it operated on the wretched youth! He spent all his fortune in the purchase and decoration of a fairy villa, bordering on the Val das Rosas, where the Court enjoyed its rustic festivities, and one day a storm! all the ladies hurried their young mistress to the house where the young Habral had been awaiting her for ages. None so polished as he! Musicians started up, the floors were ready, and torches beneath them!—there was a feast of exquisite wines and viands sparkling. Quite enchantment. The girl-Queen was in ecstasies. She deigned a dance with the young Habral, and then all sat down to supper; and in the middle of it came the cry of Fire! The Queen shrieked; the flames were seen all around; and if the arms of the young Habral were opened to save her, or perish, could she cast a thought on Royalty, and refuse? The Queen was saved the villa was burnt; the young Habral was ruined, but, if I know a Portuguese, he was happy till he died, and well remunerated! For he had held a Queen to his heart! So that was a pic-nic!” The Duke slightly inclined his head. “Vrai Portughez derrendo,” he said. “They tell a similar story in Spain, of one of the Queens—I forget her name. The difference between us and your Peninsular cavaliers is, that we would do as much for uncrowned ladies.” “Ah! your Grace!” The Countess swam in the pleasure of a nobleman’s compliment. “What’s the story?” interposed Aunt Bel. An outline of it was given her. Thank heaven, the table was now rid of the Great Mel. For how could he have any, the remotest relation with Queens and Peninsular pic-nics? You shall hear. Lady Jocelyn happened to catch a word or two of the story. “Why,” said she, “that’s English! Franks, you remember the ballet divertissement they improvised at the Bodley race-ball, when the magnificent footman fired a curtain and caught up Lady Racial, and carried her—” “Heaven knows where!” cried Sir Franks. “I remember it perfectly. It was said that the magnificent footman did it on purpose to have that pleasure.” “Ay, of course,” Hamilton took him up. “They talked of prosecuting the magnificent footman.” “Ay,” followed Seymour, “and nobody could tell where the magnificent footman bolted. He vanished into thin air.” “Ay, of course,” Melville struck in; “and the magic enveloped the lady for some time.” At this point Mr. George Uplift gave a horse-laugh. He jerked in his seat excitedly. “Bodley race-ball!” he cried; and looking at Lady Jocelyn: “Was your ladyship there, then? Why—ha! ha! why, you have seen the Great Mel, then! That tremendous footman was old Mel himself!” Lady Jocelyn struck both her hands on the table, and rested her large grey eyes, full of humorous surprise, on Mr. George.