Talboys turned pale with suppressed ire, and went on doggedly:  “You are mistaken in every particular.  Mrs. Bazalgette has no fixed views for her niece, and I by no means despair of winning her to my side.  She is anything but discouraging.”

Fountain groaned.

“Mr. Hardie is a new acquaintance, and Miss Fountain told me herself she preferred old friends to new.  She looked quite conscious as she said it.  In a word, Mr. Dodd is the only rival I have to fear—­good-night;” and he went out with a stately wave of the hand, like royalty declining farther conference.  Mr. Fountain sank into an armchair, and muttered feebly, “Good-night.”  There he sat collapsed till his friend’s retiring steps were heard no more; then, springing wildly to his feet, he relieved his swelling mind with a long, loud, articulated roar of Anglo-Saxon, “Fool! dolt! coxcomb! noodle! puppy! ass!!!!”

Did ye ever read “Tully ’de Amicitia’?”

David Dodd was saved from misery by want of vanity.  His reception at the gate by Miss Fountain was cool and constrained, but it did not wound him.  For the last month life had been a blank to him.  She was his sun.  He saw her once more, and the bare sight filled him with life and joy.  His was naturally a sanguine, contented mind.  Some lovers equally ardent would have seen more to repine at than to enjoy in the whole situation; not so David.  She sat between Kenealy and Hardie, but her presence filled the whole room, and he who loved her better than any other had the best right to be happy in the place that held her.  He had only to turn his eyes, and he could see her.  What a blessing, after a month of vacancy and darkness.  This simple idolatry made him so happy that his heart overflowed on all within reach.  He gave Mrs. Bazalgette answers full of kindness and arch gayety combined.  He charmed an old married lady on his right.  His was the gay, the merry end of the table, and others wished themselves up at it.

After the ladies had retired, his narrative powers, bonhomie and manly frankness soon told upon the men, and peals of genuine laughter echoed up to the very drawing-room, bringing a deputation from the kitchen to the keyhole, and irritating the ladies overhead, who sat trickling faint monosyllables about their three little topics.

Lucy took it philosophically.  “Now those are the good creatures that are said to be so unhappy without us.  It was a weight off their minds when the door closed on our retiring forms—­ha! ha!”

“It was a restraint taken off them, my dear,” said Mrs. Mordan, a starched dowager, stiffening to the naked eye as she spoke.  “When they laugh like that, they are always saying something improper.”

“Oh, the wicked things,” replied Lucy, mighty calmly.

“I wish I knew what they are saying,” said eagerly another young lady; then added, “Oh!” and blushed, observing her error mirrored in all eyes.