ght
that meat rather insipid." A waltzer came to claim her hand at this
moment; and as she twirled round the room upon that gentleman's arm,
wafting odours as she moved, her pink silks, pink feathers, pink
ribands, making a mighty rustling, the Countess of Kew had the
satisfaction of thinking that she had planted an arrow in that
shrivelled little waist, which Count Punter's arms embraced, and had
returned the stab which Madame d'Ivry had delivered in the morning.

Mr. Barnes, and his elect bride, had also appeared, danced, and
disappeared. Lady Kew soon followed her young ones; and the ball went on
very gaily, in spite of the absence of these respectable personages.

Being one of the managers of the entertainment, Lord Kew returned to it
after conducting Lady Anne and her daughter to their carriage, and now
danced with great vigour, and with his usual kindness, selecting those
ladies whom other waltzers rejected because they were too old, or too
plain, or too stout, or what not. But he did not ask Madame d'Ivry to
dance. He could condescend to dissemble so far as to hide the pain which
he felt; but did not care to engage in that more advanced hypocrisy of
friendship, which for her part, his old grandmother had not shown the
least scruple in assuming.

Amongst other partners, my lord selected that intrepid waltzer, the
Graefinn von Gumpelheim, who, in spite of her age, size, and large
family, never lost a chance of enjoying her favourite recreation. "Look
with what a camel my lord waltzes," said M. Victor to Madame d'Ivry,
whose slim waist he had the honour of embracing to the same music. "What
man but an Englishman would ever select such a dromedary?"

"Avant de se marier," said Madame d'Ivry, "il faut avouer que my lord se
permet d'enormes distractions."

"My lord marries himself! And when and whom?" cried the Duchesse's
partner.

"Miss Newcome. Do not you approve of his choice? I thought the eyes of
Stenio" (the Duchess called M. Victor, Stenio) "looked with some favour
upon that little person. She is handsome, even very handsome. Is it not
so often in life, Stenio? Are not youth and innocence (I give Miss Ethel
the compliment of her innocence, now surtout that the little painter is
dismissed)--are we not cast into the arms of jaded roues? Tender young
flowers, are we not torn from our convent gardens, and flung into a
world of which the air poisons our pure life, and withers the sainted
buds of hope and love