to fix. The bright dark eyes were restless, and the lip had smiles more sarcastic than sweet; and there was a pretty defiance in her air, which piqued rather than interested. Her dress was picturesque, but careless, and would not have suited any one but herself; and her manners were in exact keeping with her face and costume;—they were at once indifferent and flattering: she exacted much attention, but she also bestowed much; and there was a brilliant uncertainty in her conversation, which gave it a peculiar charm. None could tell whether the next sentence was to be a compliment or an epigram. She talked much, and enjoyed talking; and, obviously, did not dislike a little tracasserie. Scandal, with her, did not lose any of its usual snowball propensities, of gathering as it went.
Next her sat the Duke of Wharton, in an attitude ingeniously indolent. He had that air, so English, and yet so impossible to define—high-bred. To-day his toilette was simple to affectation: he had resolved, he said, not to have a care in the world, and he began
