Britton, his mother fell to the lot of the Earl, and Fitzjocelyn
received orders to conduct a handsome, young, giggling Mrs. Smithers,
who, never having been in contact with a live Lord, wanted to make the
most of him, and, before she had arrived at her place, was declaring
that it was a most interesting occasion, just like a scene at the Opera.

Louis glanced back to see what became of Clara, and, finding her
following with Sir Andrew Britton, contrived to sit immediately
opposite to her, at the long, narrow table, with nothing between them
but a couple of cold chickens and a tongue garnished with transfixed
crayfish. His eyes were, perhaps, a greater support to her than even
conversation, for she gathered a little philosophy and charity from
their cheering smile and arch twinkling, and she managed to listen
civilly to her neighbour, while she saw that her cousin was being very
polite to Mrs. Smithers. She was a great way from all other friends,
for the table had been spread for a more numerous assembly, and the
company sat in little clusters, with dreary gaps between, where moulds
of jelly quaked in vain, and lobster-salads wasted their sweetness on
the desert air. Her uncle could just be seen in the far perspective at
the head of the table, and, between him and the Earl, Louis descried
his Aunt Catharine, looking bright, with a little embellishing flush on
her withered cheek.

Sir Andrew was not a lady's man; and, after he had heard how far Miss
Dynevor had come to-day, that she had never ridden, and had not seen
the Menai tubular bridge, he discontinued the difficult task; and she,
finding that he had not even seen the cathedral, which she had passed
only fifteen miles off, gave him up, and occupied herself with watching
the infinite variety of affectations which Mrs. Smithers was playing
off, and the grave diversion with which Louis received them. The lady
was evidently trying to discover what had been the intermediate history
of Mrs. and Miss Dynevor; and Louis was taking pleasure in baffling
her, with cool, quiet answers, especially when she came to the question
whether Miss Dynevor had not a brother, and why he was not present. It
appeared that Oliver had made almost as if his mother had been buried
and dug up again; involving the thirty-four years of her exile in such
utter mystery, that people had begun to make all sorts of wild stories
to account for her proceedings; and Lord Fitzjocelyn's explanation tha