“After this curse of forgiveness, my dear Helen, I will wish you a good night,” said Lady Cecilia, laughing; and she retired with a fear that there would not be jealousy enough between the gentlemen, or that Helen would not know how to play them one against another. There is a pleasure in seeing a large party disperse; in staying behind when others go:--there is advantage as well as pleasure, which is felt by the timid, because they do not leave their characters behind them; and rejoiced in by the satirical, because the characters of the departed and departing are left behind, fair game for them. Of this advantage no one could be more sensible, no one availed himself of it with more promptitude and skill, than Mr. Churchill: for well he knew that though wit may fail, humour may not take--though even flattery may pall upon the sense, scandal, satire, and sarcasm, are resources never failing for the lowest capacities, and sometimes for the highest. This morning, in the library at Clarendon Park, he looked out of the window at the departing guests, and, as each drove off, he gave to each his _coup de patte_. To Helen, to whom it was new, it was wonderful to see how each, even of those next in turn to go, enjoyed the demolition of those who were just gone; how, blind to fate, they laughed, applauded, and licked the hand just raised to strike themselves. Of the first who went--“Most respectable people,” said Lady Cecilia; “a _bonne mère de famille_.” “Most respectable people!” repeated Horace--“most respectable people, old coach and all.” And then, as another party drove off--“No fear of any thing truly respectable here.” “Now, Horace, how can you say so?--she is so amiable and so clever.” “So clever? only, perhaps, a thought too fond of English liberty and French dress. _Poissarde bien coiffée_.” “_Poissarde!_ of one of the best born, best bred women in England!” cried Lady Cecilia; “_bien coiffée_, I allow.” “Lady Cecilia is _si coiffée de sa belle amie_, that I see I must not say a word against her, till--the fashion changes. But, hark! I hear a voice I never wish to hear.” “Yet nobody is better worth hearing----” “Oh! yes, the queen of the Blues--the Blue Devils!” “Hush!” cried the aide-de-camp, “she is coming in to take leave.” Then, as the queen of the Blue Devils entered, Mr. Churchill, in the most humbly respectful manner, begged--“My respects--I trust your grace will do me the favour--the justice to remember me to all your party who--do me the honour to bear me in mind--” then, as she left the room, he turned about and laughed. “Oh! you sad, false man!” cried the lady next in turn to go. “I declare, Mr. Churchill, though I laugh, I am quite afraid to go off before you.” “Afraid! what could malice or envy itself find to say of your ladyship, _intacte_ as you are?--_Intacte!_” repeated he, as she drove off, “_intacte!_--a well chosen epithet, I flatter myself!”