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