Devereux could not help seeing pretty Lilias over the way, who was listening to handsome Mervyn, as it seemed, with interest, and talking also her pleasant little share.  He was no dunce, that Mervyn, nor much of a coxcomb, and certainly no clown, Devereux thought; but as fine a gentleman, to speak honestly, and as handsome, as well dressed, and as pleasant to listen to, with that sweet low voice and piquant smile, as any.  Besides he could draw, and had more yards of French and English verses by rote than Aunt Becky owned of Venetian lace and satin ribbons, and was more of a scholar than he.  He? He!—­why—­’he?’ what the deuce had Devereux to do with it—­was he vexed?—­A fiddle-stick!  He began to flag with Miss Ward, the dowager’s niece, and was glad when the refined Beauchamp, at her other side, took her up, and entertained her with Lady Carrickmore’s ball and the masquerade, and the last levee, and the withdrawing-room.  There are said to have been persons who could attend to half a dozen different conversations going on together, and take a rational part in them all, and indulge, all the time, in a distinct consecutive train of thought beside.  I dare say, Mr. Morphy, the chess-player, would find no difficulty in it.  But Devereux was not by any means competent to the feat, though there was one conversation, perhaps, the thread of which he would gladly have caught up and disentangled.  So the talk at top and bottom and both sides of the table, with its cross-readings, and muddle, and uproar, changed hands, and whisked and rioted, like a dance of Walpurgis, in his lonely brain.

What he heard, on the whole, was very like this—­’hubble-bubble-rubble-dubble—­the great match of shuttlecock played between the gentlemen of the north and those of hubble-bubble—­the Methodist persuasion; but—­ha-ha-ha!—­a squeeze of a lemon—­rubble-dubble—­ha-ha-ha!—­wicked man—­hubble-bubble—­force-meat balls and yolks of eggs—­rubble-dubble—­musket balls from a steel cross-bow—­upon my—­hubble-bubble—­throwing a sheep’s eye—­ha-ha-ha—­rubble-dubble—­at the two remaining heads on Temple Bar—­hubble-bubble—­and the duke left by his will—­rubble-dubble—­a quid of tobacco in a brass snuff-box—­hubble-bubble—­and my Lady Rostrevor’s very sweet upon—­rubble-dubble—­old Alderman Wallop of John’s-lane—­hubble-bubble—­ha-ha-ha—­from Jericho to Bethany, where David, Joab, and—­rubble-dubble—­the whole party upset in the mud in a chaise marine—­and—­hubble-bubble—­shake a little white pepper over them—­and—­rubble-dubble—­his name is Solomon—­hubble-bubble—­ha-ha-ha—­the poor old thing dying of cold, and not a stitch of clothes to cover her nakedness—­rubble-dubble—­play or pay, on Finchley Common—­hubble-bubble—­most melancholy truly—­ha-ha-ha!—­rubble-dubble—­and old Lady Ruth is ready to swear she never—­hubble-bubble—­served High Sheriff for the county of Down in the reign of Queen Anne—­rubble-dubble—­and Dr. and Mrs. Sturk—­hubble-bubble—­Secretaries of State in the room of the Duke of Grafton and General Conway—­rubble-dubble—­venerable prelate—­ha-ha-ha! hubble-bubble—­filthy creature—­hubble-bubble-rubble-dubble.’