Although not above twenty-five, she was in that state in which alone a woman ceases to be a dependant--widowhood. Lord Roseville, who had been dead about two years, had not survived their marriage many months; that period was, however, sufficiently long to allow him to appreciate her excellence, and to testify his sense of it: the whole of his unentailed property, which was very large, he bequeathed to her. She was very fond of the society of literati, though without the pretence of belonging to their order. But her manners constituted her chief attraction: while they were utterly different from those of every one else, you could not, in the least minutiae, discover in what the difference consisted: this is, in my opinion, the real test of perfect breeding. While you are enchanted with the effect, it should possess so little prominency and peculiarity, that you should never be able to guess the cause. "Pray," said Lord Vincent to Mr. Wormwood, "have you been to P--this year?" "No," was the answer. "I have, my lord," said Miss Trafford, who never lost an opportunity of slipping in a word. "Well, and did they make you sleep, as usual, at the Crown, with the same eternal excuse, after having brought you fifty miles from town, of small house--no beds--all engaged--inn close by? Ah, never shall I forget that inn, with its royal name, and its hard beds-- "'Uneasy sleeps a head beneath the Crown!'" "Ha, ha! Excellent!" cried Miss Trafford, who was always the first in at the death of a pun. "Yes, indeed they did: poor old Lord Belton, with his rheumatism; and that immense General Grant, with his asthma; together with three 'single men,' and myself, were safely conveyed to that asylum for the destitute." "Ah! Grant, Grant!" said Lord Vincent, eagerly, who saw another opportunity of whipping in a pun. "He slept there also the same night I did; and when I saw his unwieldy person waddling out of the door the next morning, I said to Temple, 'Well, that's the largest Grant I ever saw from the Crown.'" [Note: It was from Mr. J. Smith that Lord Vincent purloined this pun.] "Very good," said Wormwood, gravely. "I declare, Vincent, you are growing quite witty. Do you remember Jekyl? Poor fellow, what a really good punster he was--not agreeable though--particularly at dinner--no punsters are. Mr. Davison, what is that dish next to you?" Mr. Davison was a great gourmand: "Salmi de perdreaux aux truffes," replied the political economist. "Truffles!" said Wormwood, "have you been eating any?" "Yes," said Davison, with unusual energy, "and they are the best I have tasted for a long time." "Very likely," said Wormwood, with a dejected air. "I am particularly fond of them, but I dare not touch one--truffles are so very apoplectic-- you, I make no doubt, may eat them in safety."