’No, mamma, never.  I hope to goodness, mamma, Lord Colambre did not hear what you and Mrs. Dareville were saying!’

‘How could he, child?  He was quite at the other end of the world.’

’I beg your pardon, ma’am, he was at my elbow, close behind us; but I never thought about him till I heard somebody say, “My lord—­“’

‘Good heavens!  I hope he didn’t hear.’

‘But, for my part, I said nothing,’ cried Lady Langdale.

‘And for my part, I said nothing but what everybody knows!’ cried Mrs. Dareville.

‘And for my part, I am guilty only of hearing,’ said the duchess.  ’Do, pray, Colonel Heathcock, have the goodness to see what my people are about, and what chance we have of getting away to-night.’

’The Duchess of Torcaster’s carriage stops the way!’—­a joyful sound to Colonel Heathcock and to her grace, and not less agreeable, at this instant, to Lady Langdale, who, the moment she was disembarrassed of the duchess, pressed through the crowd to Lady Clonbrony, and, addressing her with smiles and complacency, was ’charmed to have a little moment to speak to her—­could not sooner get through the crowd—­would certainly do herself the honour to be at her ladyship’s gala on Wednesday.’  While Lady Langdale spoke, she never seemed to see or think of anybody but Lady Clonbrony, though, all the time, she was intent upon every motion of Lord Colambre, and, whilst she was obliged to listen with a face of sympathy to a long complaint of Lady Clonbrony’s, about Mr. Soho’s want of taste in ottomans, she was vexed to perceive that his lordship showed no desire to be introduced to her, or to her daughters; but, on the contrary, was standing talking to Miss Nugent.  His mother, at the end of her speech, looked round for Colambre called him twice before he heard—­introduced him to Lady Langdale, and to Lady Cat’rine, and Lady Anne—­, and to Mrs. Dareville; to all of whom he bowed with an air of proud coldness, which gave them reason to regret that their remarks upon his mother and his family had not been made Sotto Voce.

‘Lady Langdale’s carriage stops the way!’ Lord Colambre made no offer of his services, notwithstanding a look from his mother.  Incapable of the meanness of voluntarily listening to a conversation not intended for him to hear, he had, however, been compelled, by the pressure of the crowd, to remain a few minutes stationary, where he could not avoid hearing the remarks of the fashionable friends.  Disdaining dissimulation, he made no attempt to conceal his displeasure.  Perhaps his vexation was increased by his consciousness that there was some mixture of truth in their sarcasms.  He was sensible that his mother, in some points—­her manners, for instance—­was obvious to ridicule and satire.  In Lady Clonbrony’s address there was a mixture of constraint, affectation, and indecision, unusual in a person of her birth, rank, and knowledge of the world.  A natural and unnatural