“Then the maxim should be reversed, and party is rather the madness of the few for the gain of the many? “Of the two, that is the more correct definition.” “Let me keep my senses and decline to be one of the few.” Kenelm moved away from his cousin’s side, and entering one of the less crowded rooms, saw Cecilia Travers seated there in a recess with Lady Glenalvon. He joined them, and after a brief interchange of a few commonplaces, Lady Glenalvon quitted her post to accost a foreign ambassadress, and Kenelm sank into the chair she vacated. It was a relief to his eye to contemplate Cecilia’s candid brow; to his ear to hearken to the soft voice that had no artificial tones, and uttered no cynical witticisms. “Don’t you think it strange,” said Kenelm, “that we English should so mould all our habits as to make even what we call pleasure as little pleasurable as possible? We are now in the beginning of June, the fresh outburst of summer, when every day in the country is a delight to eye and ear, and we say, ‘The season for hot rooms is beginning.’ We alone of civilized races spend our summer in a capital, and cling to the country when the trees are leafless and the brooks frozen.” “Certainly that is a mistake; but I love the country in all seasons, even in winter.” “Provided the country house is full of London people?” “No; that is rather a drawback. I never want companions in the country.” “True; I should have remembered that you differ from young ladies in general, and make companions of books. They are always more conversable in the country than they are in town; or rather, we listen there to them with less distracted attention. Ha! do I not recognize yonder the fair whiskers of George Belvoir? Who is the lady leaning on his arm?” “Don’t you know?--Lady Emily Belvoir, his wife.” “Ah! I was told that he had married. The lady is handsome. She will become the family diamonds. Does she read Blue-books?” “I will ask her if you wish.” “Nay, it is scarcely worth while. During my rambles abroad I saw but few English newspapers. I did, however, learn that George had won his election. Has he yet spoken in Parliament?” “Yes; he moved the answer to the Address this session, and was much complimented on the excellent tone and taste of his speech. He spoke again a few weeks afterwards, I fear not so successfully.” “Coughed down?” “Something like it.” “Do him good; he will recover the cough, and fulfil my prophecy of his success.” “Have you done with poor George for the present? If so, allow me to ask whether you have quite forgotten Will Somers and Jessie Wiles?” “Forgotten them! no.” “But you have never asked after them?” “I took it for granted that they were as happy as could be expected. Pray assure me that they are.” “I trust so now; but they have had trouble, and have left Graveleigh.” “Trouble! left Graveleigh! You make me uneasy. Pray explain.”