He rose from the chair which he had been keeping at her elbow, and
looked about over the room. It was very full, and the first of Mrs.
Westley's Thursdays was successful beyond question. With the roving
eye, which he would not suffer to be intercepted, he saw the
distinguished people whom she had hitherto affected in their usual
number, and in rather unusual number the society people who had
probably come to satisfy an amiable curiosity; he made his reflection
that Mrs. Westley's evolution was proceeding in the inevitable
direction, and that in another winter the swells would come so
increasingly that there would be no celebrities for them to see. His
glance rested upon Mrs. Maybough, who stood in a little desolation of
her own, trying to look as if she were not there, and he had the
inspiration to go and speak to her instead of her daughter; there were
people enough speaking to Charmian, or seeming to speak to her, which
serves much the same purpose on such occasions. She was looking her
most mysterious, and he praised her peculiar charm to Mrs. Maybough.
"It's no wonder I failed with that portrait."