He began to think Mervyn conceited;
there was a 'provoking probability of succeeding' about him, and
altogether something that was beginning to grow offensive and odious.
'She knows well enough I like her,' so his liking said in confidence to
his vanity, and even _he_ hardly overheard them talk; 'better a great
deal than I knew it myself, till old Strafford got together this
confounded stupid dinner-party (he caught Miss Chattesworth glancing at
him with a peculiar look of enquiry). Why the plague did he ask _me_
here? it was Puddock's turn, and he likes venison and compots,
and--and--but 'tis like them--the women fall in love with the man who's
in love with himself, like Narcissus yonder--and they can't help it--not
they--and what care I?--hang it! I say, what is't to me?--and yet--if
she were to leave it--what a queer unmeaning place Chapelizod would be!'
'And what do you say to that, Captain Devereux?' cried the hearty voice
of old General Chattesworth, and, with a little shock, the captain
dropped from the clouds into his chair, and a clear view of the larded
fowl before him, and his own responsibilities and situation--
'Some turkey!' he said, awaking, and touching the carving-knife and
fork, with a smile and a bow; and he mingled once more in the business
and bustle of life.
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