It was nine o’clock before they dined. The days were getting very long, and soft, and sweet; the riding-parties lingered amid the pink May and the tender twilight breeze. The Montairys dined to-day at Crecy House, and a charming married daughter without her husband, and Lord and Lady Clanmorne, who were near kin to the duchess, and themselves so good-looking and agreeable that they were as good at a dinner-party as a couple of first-rate entrées. There was also Lord Carisbrooke, a young man of distinguished air and appearance; his own master, with a large estate, and three years or so older than Lothair. They dined in the Chinese saloon, which was of moderate dimensions, but bright with fantastic forms and colors, brilliantly lit up. It was the privilege of Lothair to hand the duchess to her seat. He observed that Lord Carisbrooke was placed next to Lady Corisande, though he had not taken her out. “This dinner reminds me of my visit to Brentham,” said Lothair. “Almost the same party,” said the duchess. “The visit to Brentham was the happiest time of my life,” said Lothair, moodily. “But you have seen a great deal since,” said the duchess. “I am not a sure it is of any use seeing things,” said Lothair. When the ladies retired, there was some talk about horses. Lord Carisbrooke was breeding; Lothair thought it was a duty to breed, but not to go on the turf. Lord Carisbrooke thought there could be no good breeding without racing; Lothair was of opinion that races might be confined to one’s own parks, with no legs admitted, and immense prizes, which must cause emulation. Then they joined the ladies, and then, in a short time, there was music. Lothair hovered about Lady Corisande, and at last seized a happy opportunity of addressing her. “I shall never forget your singing at Brentham,” he said; “at first I thought it might be as Lady Montairy said, because I was not used to fine singing; but I heard the Venusina the other day, and I prefer your voice and style.” “Have you heard the Venusina?” said Lady Corisande, with animation; “I know nothing that I look forward to with more interest. But I was told she was not to open her mouth until she appeared at the opera. Where did you hear her?” “Oh, I heard her,” said Lothair, “at the Roman Catholic cathedral.” “I am sure I shall never hear her there,” said Lady Corisande, looking very grave. “Do not you think music a powerful accessory to religion?” said Lothair, but a little embarrassed. “Within certain limits,” said Lady Corisande—“the limits I am used to; but I should prefer to hear opera-singers at the opera.” “Ah! if all amateurs could sing like you,” said Lothair, “that would be unnecessary. But a fine mass by Mozart—it requires great skill as well as power to render it. I admire no one so much as Mozart, and especially his masses. I have been hearing a great many of them lately.”