His language was coarse; his ideas coarser still.

There was very little to redeem it.

He mistook slang for wit, told stories that made his wife shudder, and misbehaved himself as only such a man can do.
Basil looked at him in dismay.

Could it be possible that this man was the husband of that queen of beauty?
What a life for her! No wonder she looked sad as she sat listening to him! The young man's heart ached for her.
"Are you engaged this evening ?" asked Lord Lisle; "if not, dine with us.
I expect Sir Harry Vere, and he is the most amusing character I know." He would have refused, but that he met the imploring glance of Lady Amelie's eyes.
"I will come with pleasure," he replied; and her eyes thanked him.
Then Lord Lisle, thinking he had been most amiable and charming, rose from his chair and quitted the room.

In some vague, indistinct way the atmosphere seemed clearer after he had gone.
Lady Amelie made no comment; a woman less gifted than herself might have done so; she merely raised her hands and eyes and gave one deep sigh.
Will you believe me that that sigh meant more than any other woman could have put into words?
It meant "Pity me! see how I am wasted on this boor of a man! think how uncongenial he is, how wretched I am." No one could sigh so effectively as Lady Amelie Lisle; thus it was with difficulty she refrained from smiling.