But Mrs. Jonathan Prothero was quite as capable of sustaining the dignity of the Philip Payne Perrys as the Welsh lady that of the Rice Rices, and a satirist might have made a clever caricature of these patriotic dames—­the one thin and stiff, the other stout and stiff—­as they compared their family honours.

But the lady of undoubted rank and pretension of the party is Lady Mary Nugent, who can afford to patronise or throw over-board whomsoever she will.  She is seated next to Mr Gwynne, and is lavishing a considerable share of good looks and eloquence on that gentleman.  Still in the prime of life, elegant, refined, pretty, and a skilful tactician, she is a dangerous rival of the young ladies, and is not wholly innocent of a desire to eclipse them.  She and her daughter are dressed very nearly alike, in some white and light material, and at a little distance she might pass for the fair Wilhelmina’s elder sister.  A profusion of ornaments, too well arranged to appear too numerous, alone distinguish mother and daughter.  She has a handsome profile and a captivating manner, two dangerous things in woman; but therewith she has an occasionally malicious expression of eye and mouth, that somewhat impairs the effect of the captivation.

Her daughter is like her in profile, but has not her fascination of manner.  She is, however, beautiful as a statue, with chiselled features and marble complexion.  But she does not at present appear to have character enough to possess the clever malice of her mother.  This may possibly come with suitors and rivals, who generally draw out all the evil, and sometimes much of the good, of woman’s nature.

She is now simpering and blushing and saying pretty nothings between Rowland Prothero and a certain Sir Hugh Pryse, who, on their respective parts, think her a goose, being attracted elsewhere.  Sir Hugh is exerting his lungs to their utmost, and much beyond the boundaries that etiquette would vainly try to impose upon them, in endeavouring to attract the attention of Miss Gwynne; whilst Rowland is, as we before said, discussing the death of Mr Jenkins and the prospects of his son.

Perhaps the most uncomfortable person at the table is Netta, who really does not quite understand how to behave herself in the new atmosphere in which she finds herself.  She never was at a dinner-party before, never waited upon by grand servants, never surrounded by such gay people; and, in spite of her ambition to eclipse by her beauty the Misses Nugent and Rice Rice, she feels and looks rather awkward.  Miss Gwynne does all in her power to reassure her, but she sits, looking very pretty—­by far the prettiest person in the room—­and very ill at ease, until the ladies adjourn to the drawing-room, and she takes refuge in the pictures of the drawing-room scrap-book and her aunt.

The gentlemen arrive in course of time, which they must do, linger as long as they will over the delights of port and politics, and then the various schemes and thoughts engendered at the dinner-table are brought to light over the coffee-cup.