Colonel Madison watched for the privilege of a recognising nod from the divinity.

Sir Jasper Paulet, a legal luminary of the first brilliancy, likely to be employed for the Crown if there should be an inquiry into Lord Maulevrier's conduct out yonder, came to press Lady Maulevrier's hand and murmur a tender welcome.
She accepted their friendliness as a matter of course, and not by the faintest extra quiver of the tremulous stars which glittered in a circlet above her raven hair did she betray her consciousness of the cloud that darkened her husband's reputation.

Never had she appeared gayer, or more completely satisfied with herself and the world in which she lived.

She was ready to talk about anything and everything--the newly-wedded queen, and the fortunate Prince, whose existence among us had all the charm of novelty--of Lord Melbourne's declining health--and Sir Robert Peel's sliding scale--mesmerism--the Oxford Tracts--the latest balloon ascent--the opera--Macready's last production at Drury lane--Bulwer's new novel--that clever little comic paper, just struggling into popularity--what do you call the thing--_Punch ?_--yes, _Punch, or the London Charivari_--a much more respectable paper than its Parisian prototype.
Seated next Lord Denyer, who was an excellent listener, Lady Maulevrier's vivacity never flagged throughout the dinner, happily not so long as a modern banquet, albeit more ponderous and not less expensive.

From the turtle to the pines and strawberries, Lady Maulevrier held her host or her right-hand neighbour in interested conversation.