Table-Talk.

And, sir, if these accounts be true,

The Dutch have mighty¹ things in view;

The Austrians — I admire French beans,

Dear ma’am, above all other greens.

* * * * *

And all as lively and as brisk

As — Ma’am, d’ye choose a game at whisk?

Table-Talk.

When they were about to leave the room, Lady Penelope assumed Tyrrel’s arm with a sweet smile of condescension², meant to make the honoured party understand in its full extent the favour conferred. But the unreasonable⁴ artist, far from intimating the least confusion at an attention so little to be expected, seemed to consider the distinction as one which was naturally paid to the greatest stranger present; and when he placed Lady Penelope at the head of the table, by Mr. Winterblossom the president, and took a chair for himself betwixt her ladyship and Lady Binks, the provoking wretch⁶ appeared no more sensible of being exalted⁷ above his proper rank in society, than if he had been sitting at the bottom of the table by honest Mrs. Blower from the Bow-head, who had come to the Well to carry off the dregs of the Inflienzie, which she scorned to term a surfeit⁸.

Now this indifference⁹ puzzled Lady Penelope’s game extremely, and irritated her desire to get at the bottom of Tyrrel’s mystery, if there was one, and secure him to her own party. If you were ever at a watering-place, reader, you know that while the guests do not always pay the most polite attention to unmarked individuals, the appearance of a stray lion makes an interest as strong as it is reasonable, and the Amazonian chiefs of each coterie¹⁰, like the hunters of Buenos-Ayres, prepare their lasso, and

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