One set of dishes followed another set of dishes, and nothing in the
shape of a personal revelation took place. The conversation halted on
irregularly, between public affairs on one side and trifling private
topics on the other. Politics, home and foreign, took their turn with
the small household history of St. Crux; the leaders of the revolution
which expelled Louis Philippe from the throne of France marched side
by side, in the dinner-table review, with old Mazey and the dogs. The
dessert was put on the table, the old sailor came in, drank his loyal
toast, paid his respects to "Master George," and went out again.
Magdalen followed him, on her way back to the servants' offices, having
heard nothing in the conversation of the slightest importance to the
furtherance of her own design, from the first word of it to the last.
She struggled hard not to lose heart and hope on the first day. They
could hardly talk again to-morrow, they could hardly talk again the next
day, of the French Revolution and the dogs. Time might do wonders yet;
and time was all her own.
Left together over their wine, the uncle and nephew drew their
easy-chairs on either side of the fire; and, in Magdalen's absence,
began the very conversation which it was Magdalen's interest to hear.
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