Before the sentence was finished Mrs. Benson found herself passed on and in charge of a certain general, who was charged by the hostess to get her a cup of tea.  Her talk went right on, however, and Irene, who was still standing by the host, noticed that wherever her mother went there was a lull in the general conversation, a slight pause as if to catch what this motherly old person might be saying, and such phrases as, “It doesn’t agree with me, general; I can’t eat it,” “Yes, I got the rheumatiz in New Orleans, and he did too,” floated over the hum of talk.

In the introduction and movement that followed Irene became one of a group of young ladies and gentlemen who, after the first exchange of civilities, went on talking about matters of which she knew nothing, leaving her wholly out of the conversation.  The matters seemed to be very important, and the conversation was animated:  it was about so-and-so who was expected, or was or was not engaged, or the last evening at the Casino, or the new trap on the Avenue—­the delightful little chit-chat by means of which those who are in society exchange good understandings, but which excludes one not in the circle.  The young gentleman next to Irene threw in an explanation now and then, but she was becoming thoroughly uncomfortable.  She could not be unconscious, either, that she was the object of polite transient scrutiny by the ladies, and of glances of interest from gentlemen who did not approach her.  She began to be annoyed by the staring (the sort of stare that a woman recognizes as impudent admiration) of a young fellow who leaned against the mantel—­a youth in English clothes who had caught very successfully the air of an English groom.  Two girls near her, to whom she had been talking, began speaking in lowered voices in French, but she could not help overhearing them, and her face flushed hotly when she found that her mother and her appearance were the subject of their foreign remarks.

Luckily at the moment Mr. King approached, and Irene extended her hand and said, with a laugh, “Ah, monsieur,” speaking in a very pretty Paris accent, and perhaps with unnecessary distinctness, “you were quite right:  the society here is very different from Cyrusville; there they all talk about each other.”

Mr. King, who saw that something had occurred, was quick-witted enough to reply jestingly in French, as they moved away, but he asked, as soon as they were out of ear-shot, “What is it?”

“Nothing,” said the girl, recovering her usual serenity.  “I only said something for the sake of saying something; I didn’t mean to speak so disrespectfully of my own town.  But isn’t it singular how local and provincial society talk is everywhere?  I must look up mother, and then I want you to take me on the veranda for some air.  What a delightful house this is of your cousin’s!”