The company--such of it as did
not immediately close together around Verena--filed away into the other
rooms, bore him in its current into the neighbourhood of a table spread
for supper, where he looked for signs of the sumptuary law mentioned to
him by Mrs. Luna. It appeared to be embodied mainly in the glitter of
crystal and silver, and the fresh tints of mysterious viands and
jellies, which looked desirable in the soft circle projected by
lace-fringed lamps. He heard the popping of corks, he felt a pressure of
elbows, a thickening of the crowd, perceived that he was glowered at,
squeezed against the table, by contending gentlemen who observed that he
usurped space, was neither feeding himself nor helping others to feed.
He had lost sight of Verena; she had been borne away in clouds of
compliment; but he found himself thinking--almost paternally--that
she must be hungry after so much chatter, and he hoped some one was
getting her something to eat. After a moment, just as he was edging
away, for his own opportunity to sup much better than usual was
not what was uppermost in his mind, this little vision was suddenly
embodied--embodied by the appearance of Miss Tarrant, who faced him, in
the press, attached to the arm of a young man now recognisable to him as
the son of the house--the smiling, fragrant youth who an hour before had
interrupted his colloquy with Olive. He was leading her to the table,
while people made way for them, covering Verena with gratulations of
word and look.
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