’Mr. Drummond Forth.  A great favourite of Lady Jocelyn’s; an old friend.  He went with them to the East.  Nothing improper.  She is too cold for that.  He is fair, with regular features, very self-possessed, and ready —­your English notions of gentlemanly.  But none of your men treat a woman as a woman.  We are either angels, or good fellows, or heaven knows what that is bad.  No exquisite delicacy, no insinuating softness, mixed with respect, none of that hovering over the border, as Papa used to say, none of that happy indefiniteness of manner which seems to declare “I would love you if I might,” or “I do, but I dare not tell,” even when engaged in the most trivial attentions—­handing a footstool, remarking on the soup, etc.  You none of you know how to meet a woman’s smile, or to engage her eyes without boldness—­to slide off them, as it were, gracefully.  Evan alone can look between the eyelids of a woman.  I have had to correct him, for to me he quite exposes the state of his heart towards dearest Rose.  She listens to Mr. Forth with evident esteem.  In Portugal we do not understand young ladies having male friends.

’Hamilton Jocelyn—­all politics.  The stiff Englishman.  Not a shade of manners.  He invited me to drink wine.  Before I had finished my bow his glass was empty—­the man was telling an anecdote of Lord Livelyston!  You may be sure, my dear, I did not say I had seen his lordship.

’Seymour Jocelyn, Colonel of Hussars.  He did nothing but sigh for the cold weather, and hunting.  All I envied him was his moustache for Evan.  Will you believe that the ridiculous boy has shaved!

’Then there is Melville, my dear diplomatist; and here is another instance of our Harrington luck.  He has the gout in his right hand; he can only just hold knife and fork, and is interdicted Port-wine and penmanship.  The dinner was not concluded before I had arranged that Evan should resume (gratuitously, you know) his post of secretary to him.  So here is Evan fixed at Beckley Court as long as Melville stays.  Talking of him, I am horrified suddenly.  They call him the great Mel!  ’Sir Franks is most estimable, I am sure, as a man, and redolent of excellent qualities—­a beautiful disposition, very handsome.  He has just as much and no more of the English polish one ordinarily meets.  When he has given me soup or fish, bowed to me over wine, and asked a conventional question, he has done with me.  I should imagine his opinions to be extremely good, for they are not a multitude.

’Then his lady-but I have not grappled with her yet.  Now for the women, for I quite class her with the opposite sex.

’You must know that before I retired for the night, I induced Conning to think she had a bad head-ache, and Rose lent me her lady’s-maid—­they call the creature Polly.  A terrible talker.  She would tell all about the family.  Rose has been speaking of Evan.  It would have looked better had she been quiet—­but then she is so English!’