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32 drawing, like a child, close to Lady Mandeville, who was at once alarmed and amused. "I can recommend this macaroni, for it is my favourite dish: I am very national. You will not take any? Ah, young ladies are, or ought to be, light eaters. Your ladyship will, I trust, set your fair companion an example." The Count at least did honour to the macaroni he recommended, contriving, nevertheless, to talk incessantly. He turned the conversation on England—named divers of their friends—asked if one was dead, and another married—and hoped Emily was as fond as ever of the Opera. "We seem to have so many mutual acquaintances," remarked Lady Mandeville, carelessly, "I wonder we happen never to have met before." The Count gave her a keen glance; but hers was a well-educated countenance;—even in ordinary intercourse she would have been as much ashamed of an unguarded expression of face as of language; and now it was under most careful restraint. "Ah, your ladyship's circle was too gay for me. I was a misanthropic exile, who shrank