m. The impression which he produced on her this time roused her
curiosity immediately. His face and manner plainly expressed anxiety and
preoccupation of mind. He looked oftener at his plate than at his
uncle, and at Magdalen herself (except one passing inspection of the new
parlor-maid, when the admiral spoke to her) he never looked at all. Some
uncertainty was evidently troubling his thoughts; some oppression
was weighing on his natural freedom of manner. What uncertainty? what
oppression? Would any personal revelations come out, little by little,
in the course of conversation at the dinner-table?

No. One set of dishes followed another set of dishes, and nothing in the
shape of a personal revelation took place. The conversation halted on
irregularly, between public affairs on one side and trifling private
topics on the other. Politics, home and foreign, took their turn with
the small household history of St. Crux; the leaders of the revolution
which expelled Louis Philippe from the throne of France marched side
by side, in the dinner-table review, with old Mazey and the dogs. The
dessert was put on the table, the old sailor came in, drank his loyal
toast, paid his respects to "Master George," and went out again.
Magdalen followed him, on her way back to the servants' offices, having
heard nothing in the conversation of the slightest importance to the
furtherance of her own design, from the first word of it to the last.
She struggled hard not to lose heart and hope on the first day. They
could hardly talk again to-morrow, they could hardly talk again the next
day, of the French Revolution and the dogs. Time might do wonders yet;
and time was all her own.

Left together over their wine, the uncle and nephew drew their
easy-chairs on either side of the fire; and, in Magdalen's absence,
began the very conversation which it was Magdalen's interest to hear.

"Claret, George?" said the admiral, pushing the bottle across the table.
"You look out of spirits."

"I am a little anxious, sir," replied George, leaving his glass empty,
and looking straight into the fire.

"I am glad to hear it," rejoined the admiral. "I am more than a
little anxious myself, I can tell you. Here we are at the last days of
March--and nothing done! Your time comes to an end on the third of May;
and there you sit, as if you had years still before you, to turn round
in."

George smiled, and resignedly helped himself to some wine.

"Am I really