The colloquy was interrupted by a general move to supper. It might create suspicion if they were to stand too long aloof from the company. Arthur Wolfe plucked Curran by the sleeve, as he met him, in mid-stream, and whispered in his ear: 'I saw you talking to Lord Clare. Ye've not been insulting him, I trust? Take the advice of your friend. Do not make an enemy of him, for he'll have it all his own way by-and-by, depend on it.' Curran shrugged his shoulders with contempt. 'Intelligence of some sort has arrived,' continued the attorney-general, gravely. 'Lord Camden was called away half an hour ago, and sent presently for Clare, who was rubbing his hands and smiling when the two came back again. I overheard him say, "With your permission, I'll announce it after supper. It will make a good impression."' 'It's something cruel, then,' returned Curran, sadly. 'It's always something cruel when the chancellor looks pleased!' Supper was served in the picture-gallery which adjoins St. Patrick's hall, and it was a splendid _coup d'[oe]il_ that met your eye as you crossed the threshold. Two long lines of snowy cloth, illuminated by myriads of wax-lights in massive silver candelabra, vanished in perspective like the iridescent path cloven by a ship at night-time. Great piles of fruit and flowers gave relief to the scarlet and gold masses of the uniforms, broken as they were, in regular sequence, by the plumes and dresses of the ladies; whilst the general richness of effect was still further heightened by dark rows of feathery palms and large-leaved shrubs, which served as a sombre background. At the centre of the chief table, the Countess of Glandore occupied the place of honour beside the Viceroy, faced by Lord Clare, with Lady Camden on his right and Doreen on his left. On glancing down the table, my lady perceived with rage that the chances of the rush had placed Sara upon one side of Terence, while--(was this accident, or fate?)--the other was occupied by Madam Gillin! The young man seemed highly amused by his elderly companion, who--two monstrous ostrich feathers nodding over her the while--was vowing by her soul and body that she couldn't touch another skelp of jelly--no, not the tiniest wee bit--unless somebody fed her with a spoon; which Terence, entering into the humour of the situation, proceeded immediately to do, amid the laughter and applause of all his neighbours.