Lady Mandeville smiled a little, and turning her languid blue eyes upon Lady Dartford, asked her if she were of the christian persuasion? Lady Dartford was perfectly confounded:—she hesitatingly answered in the affirmative. Upon which, Lady Augusta fell back in her chair, and laughed immoderately; but fearful of offending her newly made acquaintance, observed to her, that she wore the prettiest hat she had ever seen. “Where did you get it?” said she.—The question was a master key to Lady Dartford’s thoughts:—caps, hats and works of every description were as much a solace to her, in the absence of her husband, as the greek language, or the pagan philosophy could ever have been to Lady Mandeville, under any of her misfortunes.—“I got it,” said she, brightening up with a grateful look, at the only enquiry she had heard, that was at all adapted to her understanding, at Madame de la Roche’s:—“it is the cheapest thing you can conceive:—I only gave twenty guineas for it:—and you know I am not reckoned very clever at making bargains.” “I should think not,” answered Lady Augusta, adverting only to the first part of the sentence. Calantha entered at this moment. “Oh my sweet soul,” said Lady Augusta, embracing her, “I began to despair of seeing you.—But what was the matter with you last night? I had just been saying that you looked so very grave. Notwithstanding which, Lord Dallas could think, and talk only of you. He says your chevelure is perfectly grecian—the black ringlets upon the white skin; but I never listen to any compliment that is not paid directly or indirectly to myself. He is quite adorable:—do you not think so, hey?—no—I see he is too full of admiration for you—too refined. Lady Avondale’s heart must be won in a far different manner:—insult—rudeness—is the way to it.—What! blush so deeply! Is the affair, then, too serious for a jest? Why, _mon enfant_, you look like Miss Macvicker this morning.—And is it true she will soon be united to you by the ties of blood, as she now seems to be by those of sympathy and congeniality of soul?” The eternal Count Gondimar, and afterwards Buchanan interrupted Lady Augusta’s attack. New topics of discourse were discussed:—it will be needless to detail them:—time presses. Balls, assemblies follow:—every day exhibited a new scene of frivolity and extravagance;—every night was passed in the same vortex of fashionable dissipation. CHAPTER XXXI.