He did come to her, and stood over her, looking unutterable things.  His unutterable things, however, were so looked, that they did not absolutely demand notice from the lady.  He did not sigh like a furnace, nor open his eyes upon her as though there were two suns in the firmament above her head, nor did he beat his breast or tear his hair.  Mr Palliser had been brought up in a school which delights in tranquillity, and never allows its pupils to commit themselves either to the sublime or to the ridiculous.  He did look an unutterable thing or two; but he did it with so decorous an eye, that the lady, who was measuring it all with great accuracy, could not, as yet, declare that Mr Palliser had “forgotten himself.”

There was room by her on the couch, and once or twice, at Hartlebury, he had ventured so to seat himself.  On the present occasion, however, he could not do so without placing himself manifestly on her dress.  She would have known how to fill a larger couch even than that,—­as she would have known, also, how to make room,—­had it been her mind to do so.  So he stood still over her, and she smiled at him.  Such a smile!  It was cold as death, flattering no one, saying nothing, hideous in its unmeaning, unreal grace.  Ah! how I hate the smile of a woman who smiles by rote!  It made Mr Palliser feel very uncomfortable,—­but he did not analyse it, and persevered.

“Lady Dumbello,” he said, and his voice was very low, “I have been looking forward to meeting you here.”

“Have you, Mr Palliser?  Yes; I remember that you asked me whether I was coming.”

“I did.  Hm—­Lady Dumbello!” and he almost trenched upon the outside verge of that schooling which had taught him to avoid both the sublime and the ridiculous.  But he had not forgotten himself as yet, and so she smiled again.

“Lady Dumbello, in this world in which we live, it is so hard to get a moment in which we can speak.”  He had thought that she would move her dress, but she did not.

“Oh, I don’t know,” she said; “one doesn’t often want to say very much, I think.”

“Ah, no; not often, perhaps.  But when one does want!  How I do hate these crowded rooms!” Yet, when he had been at Hartlebury he had resolved that the only ground for him would be the crowded drawing-room of some large London house.  “I wonder whether you ever desire anything beyond them?”

“Oh, yes,” said she; “but I confess that I am fond of parties.”

Mr Palliser looked round and thought that he saw that he was unobserved.  He had made up his mind as to what he would do, and he was determined to do it.  He had in him none of that readiness which enables some men to make love and carry off their Dulcineas at a moment’s notice, but he had that pluck which would have made himself disgraceful in his own eyes if he omitted to do that as to the doing of which he had made a solemn resolution.  He would have preferred to do it sitting, but, faute de mieux, seeing that a seat was denied to him, he would do it standing.