They found Lady Esmondet with Mrs. Wingfield and Trevalyon in an ideal refreshment room.
"Glad you've found us, ma chere," said Lady Esmondet.
"I need not ask how you are enjoying the ball," remarked Trevalyon, "your eyes tell me."
"And they say true; how could it be otherwise Sir Knight? with music that thrills one, and a light foot treading a measure to the sweet notes," answered Vaura. "Is not this a charming room, Miss Vernon? invisible music, birds and flowers; the Parisian is born for this kind of thing."
"It is just a poem, Capt. Trevalyon."
"And Bob Fudge in the flesh, brings us back to reality," said Mrs. Wingfield; and following the direction of her eyes, they saw a very young man devouring with admiring glances, the delicacies around him.
"I am quite sure," laughed Vaura, "he will go through the bill of fare just as Moore's Bob, of one pate of larks, just to tune up the throat; one's small limbs of chickens, done en papillote, one's erudite cutlets dressed all ways but plain, &c. Oh, dear, he fatigues one," she added gaily; "yes, an ice, Sir Tilton."
"Depend upon it," said Trevalyon laughing, "Dick will receive a letter from Bob, that, 'there's nothing like feeding.'"
Here Eau Clair joined them, having missed Vaura from the ball-room.
"Have you seen the Claytons this evening, Vaura?" enquired Lady
Esmondet.