s talk, Foker, on the other hand,
so bland and communicative on most occasions, was entirely mum and
melancholy when he danced with Miss Amory. To clasp her slender waist
was a rapture, to whirl round the room with her was a delirium; but to
speak to her, what could he say that was worthy of her? What pearl of
conversation could he bring that was fit for the acceptance of such a
Queen of love and wit as Blanche? It was she who made the talk when she
was in the company of this love-stricken partner. It was she who asked
him bow that dear little pony was, and looked at him and thanked him
with such a tender kindness and regret, and refused the dear little pony
with such a delicate sigh when he offered it. "I have nobody to ride
with in London," she said. "Mamma is timid, and her figure is not pretty
on horseback. Sir Francis never goes out with me. He loves me like--like
a stepdaughter. Oh, how delightful it must be to have a father--a
father, Mr. Foker!"

"Oh, uncommon," said Mr. Harry, who enjoyed that blessing very calmly,
upon which, and forgetting the sentimental air which she had just before
assumed, Blanche's grey eyes gazed at Foker with such an arch twinkle
that both of them burst out laughing, and Harry enraptured and at his
ease began to entertain her with a variety of innocent prattle--good
kind simple Foker talk, flavoured with many expressions by no means to
be discovered in dictionaries, and relating to the personal history
of himself or horses, or other things dear and important to him, or
to persons in the ballroom then passing before them, and about whose
appearance or character Mr. Harry spoke with artless freedom, and a
considerable dash of humour.

And it was Blanche who, when the conversation flagged, and the youth's
modesty came rushing back and overpowering him, knew how to reanimate
her companion: asked him questions about Logwood, and whether it was a
pretty place? Whether he was a hunting man, and whether he liked
women to hunt? (in which case she was prepared to say that she adored
hunting)--but Mr. Foker expressing his opinion against sporting
females, and pointing out Lady Bullfinch, who happened to pass by, as
a horse-godmother, whom he had seen at cover with a cigar in her face,
Blanche too expressed her detestation of the sports of the field, and
said it would make her shudder to think of a dear sweet little fox
being killed, on which Foker laughed and waltzed with renewed vigour and
gra