He asked Miss Pennefeather some questions upon modern literature, which gave her an opportunity of pouring forth her stores of information into the ears of the loathing dandy. He made a remark concerning the number of members who had paired off upon the last important division in the last session of Parliament, and Sir James Ashgrove was in his element. He informed Lady Bodlington what was the proper name for that species of sable of which her boa was composed, and she became eloquent to prove that, whatever its name, it was of the most approved sort—in Paris at least—whatever it might be in Russia. He told young Lord Slenderdale he ought to look at Captain Charles Heckfield’s brown mare, for she was the cleverest hack he had seen for a long time, and the two young men soon found themselves able to speak. He complimented Colonel Heckfield on his wines, and Mrs. Heckfield on the beautiful china of which the dinner service was composed; and he told her in a friendly, confidential manner, the only place where such rare china could be matched. By degrees the conversation became general, and then he listened to each, so as to make each person—each lady at least, believe herself an object of interest and attention to him. Mrs. Heckfield felt quite at her ease concerning the fate of her dinner, and perfectly intimate with Lord Montreville, but not quite happy about Lucy, who, since the first awful silence, had given way to a comfortable universal clatter, had grown so merry with her brother and Lord Slenderdale, that Mrs. Heckfield felt convinced Lord Montreville would set her down in his mind as a missish hoyden, and entirely dismiss her from his thoughts. In vain were sundry maternal glances levelled at poor Lucy—knittings of the eyebrows (suddenly smoothed and converted into sweet smiles if any one looked her way), all were wasted on the unconscious girl, who, in the gaiety of her heart, continued to laugh and to talk till she was on the verge of laughing a little too loud, and, as Mrs. Heckfield thought, of losing a marquisate. But she was mistaken. Lord Montreville knew the sex well, and he saw that it was an innocent, gay, natural laugh—that there was neither freedom nor coquetry in her merriment; he knew how quickly women catch the tone of good society, and he still thought she would do. Mrs. Heckfield hastened the signal for the departure of the ladies, in consequence of Lucy’s ill-timed mirth, and they all sailed out, Lady Bodlington first, the Honourable Mrs. Haughtville next, Miss Pennefeather followed after, and Mrs. Heckfield was able quietly, but angrily, to whisper to Lucy, “that she giggled just as if Bell Stopford had been with her.” CHAPTER IV.