“Exceedingly a boy.”

“Now I put a finger on his vanity,” said she; and thought indeed that she had played on him.

“Mr. Pole,” (Lady Gosstre addressed that gentleman,) “I must hope that you will leave this dining-hall as it is; there is nothing in the neighbourhood to match it!”

“Delightful!” interposed Laura Tinley; “but is it settled?”

Mr. Pole leaned forward to her ladyship; and suddenly catching the sense of her words, “Ah, why not?” he said, and reached his hand to some champagne, which he raised to his mouth, but drank nothing of.  Reflection appeared to tell him that his safety lay in drinking, and he drained the glass at a gulp.  Mrs. Chump had it filled immediately, and explained to a wondering neighbour, “It’s that that keeps ’m on his legs.”

“We shall envy you immensely,” said Laura Tinley to Arabella; who replied, “I assure you that no decision has been come to.”

“Ah, you want to surprise us with cards on a sudden from Besworth!”

“That is not the surprise I have in store,” returned Arabella sedately.

“Then you have a surprise?  Do tell me.”

“How true to her sex is the lady who seeks to turn ‘what it is’ into ‘what it isn’t!’” said Freshfield, trusty lieutenant.

“I think a little peeping makes surprises sweeter; I’m weak enough to think that,” Lady Charlotte threw in.

“That is so true!” exclaimed Laura.

“Well; and a secret shared is a fact uncommonly well aired—­that is also true.  But, remember, you do not desire the surprise; you are a destroying force to it;” and Freshfield bowed.

“Curiosity!” sighed some one, relieving Freshfield from a sense of the guilt of heaviness.

“I am a Pandora,” Laura smilingly said.

“To whom?” Tracy Runningbrook’s shout was heard.

“With champagne in the heads of the men, and classics in the heads of the women, we shall come; to something,” remarked Lady Gosstre half to herself and Georgiana near her.

An observer of Mr. Pole might have seen that he was fretting at a restriction on his tongue.  Occasionally he would sit forward erect in his chair, shake his coat-collar, frown, and sound a preparatory ’hem; but it ended in his rubbing his hair away on the back of his head.  Mrs. Chump, who was herself perceiving new virtues in champagne with every glass, took the movements as indicative of a companion exploration of the spiritual resources of this vintage.  She no longer called for it, but lifted a majestic finger (a Siddons or tenth-Muse finger, as Freshfield named it) behind the row of heads; upon which champagne speedily bubbled in the glasses.  Laughter at the performance had fairly set in.  Arabella glanced nervously round for Mr. Pericles, who looked at his watch and spread the fingers of one hand open thrice—­an act that telegraphed fifteen minutes.  In fifteen minutes an opera troupe, with three famous chiefs and a renowned prima-donna were to arrive.  The fact was known solely to Arabella and Mr. Pericles.  It was the Surprise of the evening.  But within fifteen minutes, what might not happen, with heads going at champagne-pace?