The Comtesse Leinsengen, who was of course of the party, observed to Lord Baskerville, as he placed himself by her, "I am quite glad to put de taste of dat horrid dull _Teseo_ out of my mouth. How people can be so _baroque_ as to choose such long old-fashioned things, good for nothing but your German professors!" Lady Tenderden said, "_Avouez, moi milor, qu'une romance ou barcarolle vaut bien mieux_." "After all," said Lady Baskerville, "music is a good thing, but supper is a better." And now came the general clatter of tongues and knives and forks, sweeter than all the harmony of the spheres. "I have made a vow," said Mr. Leslie Winyard to Lady Glenmore; "guess what it is." "No, tell me; for I never guessed any thing in my life." "Why, never again to sing with you, even should you deign to ask me, for I am quite convinced of the truth of your hint, that I only mar the perfection of your song; and besides, the true way to feel _with you_, is to see _you feel_, unoccupied by any thought of one's own." Then, as if he avoided dwelling on the theme of his admiration, he talked gaily, and glanced at various topics with that agreeable lightness of manner which scarcely touches what it lights on, and alternately made her laugh and nearly cry, till her spirits got into that state of excitement which obscures reason, and leaves the mind in some degree open to impressions that, at soberer and more reflective times, it would cast off as not analogous to its healthful state. It was at a very late hour that this party broke up. Day was breaking, and with its clear pale light shaming their orgies, before Lady Glenmore was actually on her way down stairs to depart; but suddenly the morning was overcast with one of those thunder-storms not unusual at the season, and torrents of rain burst from the clouds. A heavy thunder-clap, that made the very houses rattle again, broke over the spot where she stood: for an instant she paused, appalled, while the company were rushing up and down past her, and snatching their various coverings, to shield them as they flew to their carriages. "You are not afraid?" said Mr. Leslie Winyard, gently pressing the arm that rested upon his. "No, not afraid," she answered; but her countenance was very serious, and something seemed to reproach her for being in such a scene at such an hour without any natural protector. She moved on, however, to her carriage: it was the last at the door. "How do you go home?" she said to Mr. Leslie Winyard. "Oh! any how," he answered; and he looked around. "I see my people have thought it wise to avoid the storm, and left me to take care of myself." "Can I not set you down?" she asked, from an innocent impulse of good-nature; and again a still louder clap of thunder rebounded over their heads, and it was with difficulty the coachman held his horses, as they reared and plunged violently.