That evening the guests gathered round the table with more
empressement than usual. The Marchesa seemed a little flurried,
and Mrs. Sinclair, in a way, shared her excitement. The menu, for
the first time, was written in French, a fact which did not escape
Sir John's eye. He made no remark as to the soup; it was the best
of its kind, and its French name made it no better than the other
triumphs in the same field which the Marchesa had achieved. But
when Sir John tasted the first mouthful of the fish he paused, and
after a reflective and regretful look at his plate, he cast his eye
round the table. All the others, however, were too busily intent
in consuming the Turbot la Vatel to heed his interrogative glance,
so he followed suit, and after he had finished his portion, asked,
sotto voce, for another bit.
In the interval before the service of the next dish Sir John made
several vain attempts to catch the Marchesa's eye, and more than
once tried to get in a word; but she kept up a forced and rather
nervous conversation with Lady Considine and Van der Roet, and
refused to listen.
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