Where men imagine that in supplying the material wants of humanity they have amply fulfilled the part between host and guest, and that when the viands are good, and the wine exquisite, the whole responsibility is satisfied, it will seem that Sir Within’s fears and anxieties were not all reasonable; but this was not his theory. At a grand dinner, a state occasion, a certain dulness was a part of the solemnity, and full-dress liveries and gold dishes were the natural accompaniments of dreariness and display; but a little dinner meant a choice party, a selected few, bound to bring with them their faculties at the brightest; not sharpening their wits at the moment of exercise, like an unruly orchestra tuning their instruments when they should be playing, but ready to start off at score. What a blank disappointment was here! The few sallies that relieved the dulness came from the younger Ladarelle, and were neither attic in themselves, or quite unquestionable in point of taste; and when they arose to take their coffee, the feeling was rather gratification that so much of weariness had been got over, and a hope that there was not much more to come. “I shall want you to sing, Ma Mie; I see you won’t talk,” whispered Sir Within to Kate, as he drew near her. “No, Sir, I have a headache. I shall go and lie down.” “That is about as much of her company as she has vouchsafed us since we have been here,” said Ladarelle the younger to Grenfell, as they stood together in a window. “Is she haughty?” “I don’t know.” “Vain, I should take her to be, eh?” “I don’t know.” “Who is she?” whispered Grenfell, in the confidential tone he knew how to assume with younger men. “I don’t know that, either,” said Ladarelle. “The old fellow says his ward; but I’d not be surprised if one of these days he should say his wife.” “Why, he’s seventy.” “Seventy-six--seventy-six! but he’d like to fancy he was eight-and-thirty.” “A natural sort of self-delusion in its way,” said Grenfell, carelessly. “He’d be wrong to marry, though.” “I believe you; and very hard on me, too.” “How do you mean on you?” “Because the estate comes to me; but he can charge it with a settlement if he marries; that’s what I call hard. Don’t you?” Grenfell had no time to resolve the question, for Sir Within had already come over to propose a rubber at whist, a party to which, as an old member of Graham’s, his appetite was not whetted as young Ladarelle whispered, “I wish you joy of your whist; old Wardle revokes, and my father never pays if he loses!” “Come over and dine with me to-morrow,” said Grenfell; “it will not be more dreary than this.” CHAPTER XXXVI. A NEW FRIENDSHIP “What a snug place you have here; it’s as pretty as paint, too,” said Mr. Adolphus Ladarelle, as he lounged into the Cottage, a few minutes after the time named for dinner. “It is not mine; I am only here on sufferance. It belongs to Sir Gervais Vyner,” said Grenfell. “Not the Vyner who sat for Holstead?”