The first day in town dragged its length slowly over. Martin was fatigued, and did not go abroad, and no one came to visit him. To do him justice, he was patient under the neglect; to say more, he was grateful for it. It was so pleasant “to be let alone;” not even to be obliged to see Henderson, nor to be consulted about “Road Sessions” or “Police Reports,” but to have one's day in total unbroken listlessness; to have simply to say, “We 'll dine at seven,” and “I'm out for every one.” Far otherwise fared it in my “Lady's chamber.” All her plans had been based upon the attentions she was so certain of receiving, but of which now not a sign gave token. She passed the day in a state of almost feverish excitement, the more painful from her effort to conceal and control it. Repton dined with them. He came that day “because, of course, he could not expect to catch them disengaged on any future occasion.” Her Ladyship was furious at the speech, but smiled concurrence to it; while Martin carelessly remarked, “From all that I see, we may enjoy the same pleasure very often.” Never was the old lawyer so disagreeable when exerting himself to be the opposite. He had come stored with all the doings of the capital,--its dinners and evening parties, its _mots_ and its gossip. From the political rumors and the chit-chat of society, he went on to speak of the viceregal court and its festivities. “If there be anything I detest,” said her Ladyship, at last, “it is the small circle of a very small metropolis. So long as you look at it carelessly, it is not so offensive; but when you stoop to consider and examine it with attention, it reminds you of the hideous spectacle of a glass of water as seen through a magnifier,--you detect a miniature world of monsters and deformities, all warring and worrying each other.” And with this flattering exposition of her opinion, she arose speedily after dinner, and, followed by Miss Henderson, retired. “I perceive that we had not the ear of the Court for our argument,” said Repton, as he resumed his place after conducting her to the door. Martin sipped his wine in silence. “I never expected she'd like Dublin; it only suits those who pass their lives in it; but I fancied that what with Castle civilities--” “There 's the rub,” broke in Martin, but in a voice subdued almost to a whisper. “They 've taken no notice of us. For my own part, I 'm heartily obliged to them; and if they 'd condescend to feel offended with us, I 'd only be more grateful; but my Lady--” A long, low whistle from Repton implied that he had fully appreciated the “situation.”