w exactly what he means. He wants to dance the polka as Petrarch,
and find a Laura in every partner.'

'You have no poetical feeling,' said Mr. Vavasour, waving his hand. 'I
have often told you so.'

'You will easily find Lauras, Mr. Vavasour, if you often write such
beautiful verses as I have been reading to-day,' said Lady Marney.

'You, on the contrary,' said Mr. Vavasour, bowing, 'have a great deal of
poetic feeling, Lady Marney; I have always said so.'

'But give us your news, Edith,' said Coningsby. 'Imagine our suspense,
when it is a question, whether we are all to look picturesque or
quizzical.'

'Ah, you want to know whether you can go as Cardinal Mazarin, or the
Duke of Ripperda, Harry. I know exactly what you all are now thinking
of; whether you will draw the prize in the forthcoming lottery, and get
exactly the epoch and the character which suit you. Is it not so, Lord
Montacute? Would not you like to practise a little with your crusados at
the Queen's ball before you go to the Holy Sepulchre?'

'I would rather hear your description of it,' said Tancred.

'Lord Henry, I see, is half inclined to be your companion as a Red-cross
Knight,' continued Edith. 'As for Lady Marney, she is the successor
of Mrs. Fry, and would wish, I am sure, to go to the ball as her
representative.'

'And pray what are you thinking of being?' said Mr. Vavasour. 'We
should like very much to be favoured with Mrs. Coningsby's ideal of
herself.'

'Mrs. Coningsby leaves the ideal to poets. She is quite satisfied to
remain what she is, and it is her intention to do so, though she means
to go to Her Majesty's ball.'

'I see that you are in the secret,' said Lord Marney.

'If I could only keep secrets, I might turn out something.' said Mrs.
Coningsby. 'I am the depositary of so much that is occult-joys, sorrows,
plots, and scrapes; but I always tell Harry, and he always betrays me.
Well, you must guess a little. Lady Marney begins.'

'Well, we were at one at Turin,' said Lady Marney, 'and it was oriental,
Lalla Rookh. Are you to be a sultana?'

Mrs. Coningsby shook her head.

'Come, Edith,' said her husband; 'if you know, which I doubt----'

'Oh! you doubt----'

'Valentine told me yesterday,' said Mr. Vavasour, in a mock peremptory
tone, 'that there would not be a ball.'

'And Lord Valentine told me yesterday that there would be a ball, and
what the ball would be; and what is more, I have fixed on my dress,'
said Mrs. C