n to him; and he
got so nervous at his mistake that he hardly spoke for the rest of
dinner.

The dishes were exquisite, and Lady Theodosia enjoyed them all, in
spite of "Fanny" (that is the Spitz) constantly falling off her lap,
and having to be fished for by her own footman, who always stands
behind her chair, ready for these emergencies. I call it very plucky of
the dog to go on trying; for what lap Lady Theodosia has is so steep it
must be like trying to sleep on the dome of St. Paul's. Mr. Roper sat
at my other side, and after a while he talked to me; he said he came
every year to shoot partridges, and it was always the same. On the
night he arrived there was always this dinner party, and some years the
most absurd things had happened, but Lady Theodosia did not care a
button. He thought there were a good many advantages in being a Duke's
daughter; they don't dare to offend her, he said, although they are
ready to tear one another's eyes out when they are put with the wrong
people. Lady Theodosia puffed a good deal as dinner went on, I could
hear her from where I sat. She is in slight mourning, so below her
diamond necklace--which is magnificent, but has not been cleaned for
years--she had a set of five lockets, on a chain all made of bog oak,
and afterwards I found each locket had a portrait of some pet animal
who is dead in it, and a piece of its hair. You would never guess that
she is Lady Cecilia's sister, except for the bulgy eyes. Towards the
end of dinner Mr. Doran got so gay, he talked and laughed so you would
not have recognised him, as ordinarily he is a timid little thing.

[Sidenote: _After Dinner_]

When we returned to the great drawing-room, it was really comic. Lady
Theodosia did not make any pretence of talking to the people. Her whole
attention was with the "children," who had just been let loose from her
boudoir, where her maid had been keeping them company while we dined.
They were as jealous as possible of Fanny, who never leaves any part of
Lady Theodosia she can stick on to. She is so small that she gets lots
of nice rides asleep on the folds of her velvet train. Most of the
company were terrified at this avalanche of dogs, and kept saying, when
they came and sniffed and barked at them, "poor doggie," "nice doggie,"
"good doggie," etc., in different keys of nervousness. I felt glad
Agnes had insisted that I should not put on one of my best dresses. She
highly disapproves of this place. As we