How prettily she stands! how prettily she walks! what a sensitive, spirited, clear-tinted face it is! This was pretty much the interpretation of his reverie, as Colonel Stafford's large and respectable party obligingly vanished for a while into air. Is it sad? I think it _is_ sad--I don't know--and how sweetly and how drolly it lighted up; at that moment he saw her smile--the pleasant mischief in it--the dark violet glance--the wonderful soft dimple in chin and cheek--the little crimson mouth, and its laughing coronet of pearls--and then all earnest again, and still so animated! What feminine intelligence and character there is in that face!--'tis pleasanter to me than conversation--'tis a fairy tale, or--or a dream, it's so interesting--I never know, you see, what's coming--Is not it wonderful? What is she talking about now?--what does it signify?--she's so strangely beautiful--she's like those Irish melodies, I can't reach all their meaning; I only know their changes keep me silent, and are playing with my heart-strings. Devereux's contemplation of the animated _tete-a-tete_, for such, in effect, it seemed to him at the other side of the table, was, however, by no means altogether pleasurable. He began to think Mervyn conceited; there was a 'provoking probability of succeeding' about him, and altogether something that was beginning to grow offensive and odious. 'She knows well enough I like her,' so his liking said in confidence to his vanity, and even _he_ hardly overheard them talk; 'better a great deal than I knew it myself, till old Strafford got together this confounded stupid dinner-party (he caught Miss Chattesworth glancing at him with a peculiar look of enquiry). Why the plague did he ask _me_ here? it was Puddock's turn, and he likes venison and compots, and--and--but 'tis like them--the women fall in love with the man who's in love with himself, like Narcissus yonder--and they can't help it--not they--and what care I?--hang it! I say, what is't to me?--and yet--if she were to leave it--what a queer unmeaning place Chapelizod would be!' 'And what do you say to that, Captain Devereux?' cried the hearty voice of old General Chattesworth, and, with a little shock, the captain dropped from the clouds into his chair, and a clear view of the larded fowl before him, and his own responsibilities and situation-- 'Some turkey!' he said, awaking, and touching the carving-knife and fork, with a smile and a bow; and he mingled once more in the business and bustle of life. And soon there came in the general talk and business one of those sudden lulls which catch speakers unawares, and Mr. Beauchamp was found saying-- 'I saw her play on Thursday, and, upon my honour, the Bellamy is a mockery, a skeleton and a spectacle.'