Before leaving the signora he arranged a little table before her and
begged to know what he should bring her. She was quite indifferent,
she said--nothing--anything. It was now she felt the misery of her
position, now that she must be left alone. Well, a little chicken,
some ham, and a glass of champagne.

Mr. Slope had to explain, not without blushing for his patron, that
there was no champagne.

Sherry would do just as well. And then Mr. Slope descended with
the learned Miss Trefoil on his arm. Could she tell him, he asked,
whether the ferns of Barsetshire were equal to those of Cumberland?
His strongest worldly passion was for ferns--and before she could
answer him he left her wedged between the door and the sideboard.
It was fifty minutes before she escaped, and even then unfed.

"You are not leaving us, Mr. Slope," said the watchful lady of the
house, seeing her slave escaping towards the door, with stores of
provisions held high above the heads of the guests.

Mr. Slope explained that the Signora Neroni was in want of her
supper.

"Pray, Mr. Slope, let her brother take it to her," said Mrs. Proudie,
quite out loud. "It is out of the question that you should be so
employed. Pray, Mr. Slope, oblige me; I am sure Mr. Stanhope will
wait upon his sister."

Ethelbert was most agreeably occupied in the furthest corner of the
room, making himself both useful and agreeable to Mrs. Proudie's