sociability.

Although there was really only one thought in every male mind present,
still, regard for the ladies, and some little apprehension of the
servants, banished politics from discourse during the greater part of the
dinner, with the occasional exception of some rapid and flying allusion
which the initiated understood, but which remained a mystery to the rest.
Nevertheless an old story now and then well told by Mr. Ormsby, a new joke
now and then well introduced by Mr. Gay, some dashing assertion by Mr.
Rigby, which, though wrong, was startling; this agreeable blending of
anecdote, jest, and paradox, kept everything fluent, and produced that
degree of mild excitation which is desirable. Lord Monmouth sometimes
summed up with an epigrammatic sentence, and turned the conversation by a
question, in case it dwelt too much on the same topic. Lord Eskdale
addressed himself principally to the ladies; inquired after their morning
drive and doings, spoke of new fashions, and quoted a letter from Paris.
Madame Colonna was not witty, but she had that sweet Roman frankness which
is so charming. The presence of a beautiful woman, natural and good-
tempered, even if she be not a L'Espinasse or a De Stael, is animating.

Nevertheless, owing probably to the absorbing powers of the forbidden
subject, there were moments when it seemed that a pause was impending, and
Mr. Ormsby, an old hand, seized one of these critical instants to address
a good-natured question to Coningsby, whose acquaintance he had already
cultivated by taking wine with him.

'And how do you like Eton?' asked Mr. Ormsby.

It was the identical question which had been presented to Coningsby in the
memorable interview of the morning, and which had received no reply; or