“Hem! I thought so,” whispered Lady Janet to a neighbor. “She was too warm.”
“I really wish that young ladies would reserve these scenes for fitting times and places. That open window has brought back my lumbago,” said Lord Kilgoff.
“The true treatment for syncope,” broke in the Dean, “is not by stimulants. The want of blood on the brain is produced by mechanical causes, and you have merely to hold the person up by the legs—”
“Oh, Mr. Dean! Oh, fie!” cried twenty voices together.
“The Dean is only exemplifying his etymology on 'top side t'other way,'” cried Linton.
“Lord Kilgoff's carriage stops the way,” said a servant. And now, the first announcement given, a very general air of leave-taking pervaded the company.
“Won't you have some more muffling?—nothing round your throat?—a little negus, my Lord, before venturing into the night air.”—“How early!”—“How late!”—“What a pleasant evening!”—“What a fine night!”—“May I offer you my arm?—mind that step—goodbye, good-bye—don't forget to-morrow.”—“Your shawl S is blue—that's Lady Janet's.”—“Which is your hat?”—
“That's not mine. Thanks—don't take so much trouble.”—“Not your carriage, it is the next but one—mind the draught.”—A hundred good-nights, and they are gone! So ends a dinner-party, and of all the company not a vestige is seen, save the blaze of the low-burned wax-lights, the faded flowers, the deranged furniture, and the jaded looks of those whose faces wreathed in smiles for six mortal hours seek at last the hard-bought and well-earned indulgence of a hearty yawn!