Two things which are necessary to a perfect dinner are noiseless attendants, and a precision in serving the various dishes of each course, so that they may all be placed upon the table at the same moment. A deficiency in these respects produces that bustle and delay which distract many an agreeable conversation and spoil many a pleasant dish. These two excellent characteristics were never wanting at the dinners of Sidonia. At no house was there less parade. The appearance of the table changed as if by the waving of a wand, and silently as a dream. And at this moment, the dessert being arranged, fruits and their beautiful companions, flowers, reposed in alabaster baskets raised on silver stands of filigree work. There was half an hour of merry talk, graceful and gay: a good story, a _bon-mot_ fresh from the mint, some raillery like summer lightning, vivid but not scorching. ‘And now,’ said Edith, as the ladies rose to return to the library, ‘and now we leave you to Maynooth.’ ‘By-the-bye, what do they say to it in your House, Lord Marney?’ inquired Henry Sydney, filling his glass. ‘It will go down,’ said Lord Marney. ‘A strong dose for some, but they are used to potent potions.’ ‘The bishops, they say, have not made up their minds.’ ‘Fancy bishops not having made up their minds,’ exclaimed Tancred: ‘the only persons who ought never to doubt.’ ‘Except when they are offered a bishopric,’ said Lord Marney. ‘Why I like this Maynooth project,’ said Tancred, ‘though otherwise it little interests me, is, that all the shopkeepers are against it.’ ‘Don’t tell that to the minister,’ said Coningsby, ‘or he will give up the measure.’ ‘Well, that is the very reason,’ said Vavasour, ‘why, though otherwise inclined to the grant, I hesitate as to my vote. I have the highest opinion of the shopkeepers; I sympathise even with their prejudices. They are the class of the age; they represent its order, its decency, its industry.’ ‘And you represent them,’ said Coningsby. ‘Vavasour is the quintessence of order, decency, and industry.’ ‘You may jest,’ said Vavasour, shaking his head with a spice of solemn drollery; ‘but public opinion must and ought to be respected, right or wrong.’ ‘What do you mean by public opinion?’ said Tancred. ‘The opinion of the reflecting majority,’ said Vavasour. ‘Those who don’t read your poems,’ said Coningsby.