Seated next Lord Denyer, who was an excellent listener, Lady Maulevrier’s vivacity never flagged throughout the dinner, happily not so long as a modern banquet, albeit more ponderous and not less expensive.  From the turtle to the pines and strawberries, Lady Maulevrier held her host or her right-hand neighbour in interested conversation.  She always knew the particular subjects likely to interest particular people, and was a good listener as well as a good talker.  Her right-hand neighbour was Sir Jasper Paulet, who had been allotted to the pompous wife of a court physician, a lady who had begun her married life in the outer darkness of Guildford Street, Bloomsbury, with a household consisting of a maid-of-all-work and a boy in buttons, with an occasional interregnum of charwoman; and for whom all the length and breadth of Harley Street was now much too small.

Sir Jasper was only decently civil to this haughty matron, who on the strength of a card for a ball or a concert at the palace once in a season affected to be on the most intimate terms with Royalty, and knew everything that happened, and every fluctuation of opinion in that charmed circle.  The great lawyer’s left ear was listening greedily for any word of meaning that might fall from the lips of Lady Maulevrier; but no such word fell.  She talked delightfully, with a touch-and-go vivacity which is the highest form of dinner-table talk, not dwelling with a heavy hand upon any one subject, but glancing from theme to theme with airy lightness.  But not one word did she say about the governor of Madras; and at this juncture of affairs it would have been the worst possible taste to inquire too closely after his lordship’s welfare.

So the dinner wore on to its stately close, and just as the solemn procession of flunkeys, long as the shadowy line of the kings in ‘Macbeth,’ filed off with the empty ice-dishes, Lady Maulevrier said something which was as if a shell had exploded in the middle of the table.

‘Perhaps you are surprised to see me in such good spirits,’ she said, beaming upon her host, and speaking in those clear, perfectly finished syllables which are heard further than the louder accents of less polished speakers, ’but you will not wonder when I let you into the secret.  Maulevrier is on his way home.’

‘Indeed!’ said Lord Denyer, with the most benignant smile he could command at such short notice.  He felt that the muscles round his eyes and the corners of his mouth were betraying too much of his real sentiments.  ‘You must be very glad.’

‘I am gladder than I can say,’ answered Lady Maulevrier, gaily.  ’That horried climate—­a sky like molten copper—­an atmosphere that tastes of red-hot sand—­that flat barren coast never suited him.  His term of office would expire in little more than a year, but I hardly think he could have lived out the year.  However, I am happy to say the mail that came in to-day—­I suppose you know the mail is in?’ (Lord Denyer bowed)—­’brought me a letter from his Lordship, telling me that he has sent in his resignation, and taken his passage by the next big ship that leaves Madras.  I imagine he will be home in October.’