apiece of their
friend.

'In his element! The dear old boy has the look of a goldfish, king of
his globe.'

'The dear old boy has to me the look of a pot on the fire, with a loose
lid.'

I may have the summons from Themison to-morrow, Victor thought. The
success of the day, was a wine that rocked the soberest of thoughts.
For, strange to confess, ever since the fall on London Bridge, his
heart, influenced in some degree by Nataly's depression perhaps, had
been shadowed by doubts of his infallible instinct for success. Here, at
a stroke, and before entering the house, he had the whole neighbourhood
about him: he could feel that he and Nataly stood in the minds of the
worthy people variously with the brightness if not with the warmth
distinguishable in the bosom of Beaves Urmsing--the idea of whom gave
Lakelands an immediate hearth-glow.

Armandine was thirteen minutes, by his watch, behind the time she had
named. Small blame to her. He excused her to Lady Carmine, Lady Swanage,
Lady Blachington, Mrs. Fanning, Sir Abraham Quatley, Mr. Danny (of Bacon
fame) and the rest of the group surrounding Nataly on the mound leftward
of the white terraces descending to the lake; where she stood beating
her foot fretfully at the word brought by Nesta, that Dartrey Fenellan
had departed. It was her sunshine departed. But she went through her
task of conversing amiably. Colney, for a wonder, consented to be useful
in assisting Fenellan to relate stories of French Cooks; which were,
like the Royal Hanoverian oyster, of an age for offering acceptable
flavour to English hearers. Nesta drew her mother's attention to
Priscilla Graves and Skepsey; the latter bending head and assenting.
Nataly spoke of the charm of Priscilla's voice that day, in her duet
with the Rev. Septimus. Mr. Pempton looked; he saw that Priscilla was
proselytizing. She was perfection to him but for one blotting thing.
With grief on his eyelids, he said to Nataly or to himself: 'Meat!'

'Dear friend, don't ride your hobby over us,' she replied.

'But it's with that object they mount it,' said Victor.

The greater ladies of the assembly were quite ready to accuse the
sections, down to the individuals, of the social English (reserving our
elect) of an itch to be tyrants.

Colney was apologizing for them, with his lash: 'It's merely the
sensible effect of a want of polish of the surface when they rub
together.'

And he heard Carling exclaim to Victor: 'How comes