"I assure you, they were excessively amusing," said the prince, in a soft, confidential undertone to his neighbor, Mrs. Montfort, who, admiring his silence, which she took for state, smiled and bowed with fascinating condescension.
"And what else has happened very remarkable, count, since I left you?" asked Lord Darrell.
"Nothing, nothing, my dear Darrell. This bêtise of a war has made us all serious. If old Clamstandt had not married that gipsy little Dugiria, I really think I should have taken a turn to Belgrade."
"You should not eat so much, poppet," drawled Charles Annesley to the Spaniard.
"Why not?" said the little French lady, with great animation, always ready to fight anybody's battle, provided she could get an opportunity to talk. "Why not, Mr. Annesley? You never will let anybody eat--I never eat myself, because every night, having to talk so much, I am dry, dry, dry--so I drink, drink, drink. It is an extraordinary thing that there is no language which makes you so thirsty as French. I always have heard that all the southern languages, Spanish and Italian, make you hungry."
"What can be the reason?" seriously asked the pseudo Lady Afy.
"Because there is so much salt in it," said Lord Squib.
"Delia," drawled Mr. Annesley, "you look very pretty to-night!"
"I am charmed to charm you, Mr. Annesley. Shall I tell you what Lord Bon Mot said of you?"
"No, ma mignonne! I never wish to hear my own good things."