My eyes were fixed upon her animated countenance, and, I believe, I continued gazing even after her voice ceased. Mrs. O’Connor pointed this out, and I was immediately embarrassed. Miss Bland accounted for my embarrassment by supposing, that what Lady Geraldine had said of English crim. cons, had affected me. From a look and a whisper among the ladies, I guessed this; but Lady Geraldine was too well-bred to suppose I could suspect her of ill-breeding and ill-nature, or that I could apply to myself what evidently was not intended to allude to my family misfortunes. By an openness of manner and sweetness of expression, which I cannot forget, she, in one single look, conveyed all this to me: and then resuming her conversation, “Pray, my lord,” said she, “you who have lived so much in the great world in England, say, for you can, whether I am right or wrong in my suspicion, that these ladies, who have made such a noise in Ireland, have been little heard of in England?” I confirmed her ladyship’s opinion by my evidence. The faces of the company changed. Thus, in a few seconds, the empire of Lady Hauton and of Mrs. Norton seemed shaken to the foundation, and never recovered from this shock. The warmth of Lady Geraldine’s expressions, on this and many other occasions, wakened dormant feelings in my heart, and made me sensible that I had a soul, and that I was superior to the puppets with whom I had been classed. One day Lady Kilrush, in her mixed mode, with partly the graces of a fine lady and partly the airs of a _bel esprit_, was talking of Mr. Devereux, whom she affected to patronise and _produce_. “Here, Devereux!” cried she; “Cecil Devereux! What can you be thinking of? I am talking to you. Here’s this epitaph of Francis the First upon Petrarch’s Laura, that you showed me the other day: do you know, I dote upon it. I must have it translated: nobody can do it so well as you. I have not time; but I shall not sleep to-night if it is not done: and you are so quick: so sit down here, there’s a dear man, and do it in your elegant way for me, whilst I go to my toilette. Perhaps you did not know that my name was Laura,” said she, leaving the room with a very sentimental air. “What will become of me!” cried Devereux. “Never was a harder task set by cruel patroness. I would rather ‘turn a Persian tale for half-a-crown.’ Read this, my lord, and tell me whether it will be easy to turn my Lady Kilrush into Petrarch’s Laura.”