“So I understand.”
“You read that paragraph in the newspapers? Do you think there is any thing in it?”
“About our friend? It would be a great misfortune.”
“The bishop says there is nothing in it,” said the lord-lieutenant.
“Well, he ought to know. I understand he has had some serious conversation recently with our friend?”
“Yes; he has spoken to me about it. Are you going to attend the early celebration tomorrow? It is not much to my taste; a little new-fangled, I think; but I shall go, as they say it will do good.”
“I am glad of that; it is well that he should be impressed at this moment with the importance and opinion of his county.”
“Do you know I never saw him before?” said the lord-lieutenant. “He is winning.”
“I know no youth,” said the duke, “I would not except my own son, and Bertram has never given me an uneasy moment, of whom I have a better opinion, both as to heart and head. I should deeply deplore his being smashed by a Jesuit.”
The dancing had ceased for a moment; there was a stir; Lord Carisbrooke was enlarging, with unusual animation, to an interested group, about a new dance at Paris—the new dance. Could they not have it here? Unfortunately, he did not know its name, and could not describe its figure; but it was something new; quite new; they got it at Paris. Princess Metternich dances it. He danced it with her, and she taught it him; only he never could explain any thing, and indeed never did exactly make it out. “But you danced it with a shawl, and then two ladies hold the shawl, and the cavaliers pass under it. In fact, it is the only thing; it is the new dance at Paris.”