Although Lothair was the possessor of as many palaces and castles as the
duke himself, it is curious that his first dinner at Brentham was almost
his introduction into refined society. He had been a guest at the
occasional banquets of his uncle; but these were festivals of the Picts
and Scots; rude plenty and coarse splendor, with noise instead of
conversation, and a tumult of obstructive defendants, who impeded, by
their want of skill, the very convenience which they were purposed to
facilitate. How different the surrounding scene! A table covered with
flowers, bright with fanciful crystal, and porcelain that had belonged
to sovereigns, who had given a name to its color or its form. As for
those present, all seemed grace and gentleness, from the radiant
daughters of the house to the noiseless attendants that anticipated all
his wants, and sometimes seemed to suggest his wishes.

Lothair sat between two of the married daughters. They addressed him
with so much sympathy that he was quite enchanted. When they asked
their pretty questions and made their sparkling remarks, roses seemed to
drop from their lips, and sometimes diamonds. It was a rather large
party, for the Brentham family were so numerous that they themselves
made a festival. There were four married daughters, the duke and two
sons-in-law, a clergyman or two, and some ladies and gentlemen who were
seldom absent from this circle, and who, by their useful talents and
various accomplishments, alleviated the toil or cares of life from which
even princes are not exempt.

When the ladies had retired to the duchess's drawing-room, all the
married daughters clustered round their mother.

"Do you know, mamma, we all think him very, good-looking," said the
youngest married daughter, the wife of the listless and handsome St.