General Drumblade, sitting next to her in one of the places of honor, discoursed to Isabel privately on "my brother-in-law Hardyman's infernal temper." A young marquis, on her other side--a mere lad, chosen to make the necessary speech in acknowledgment of his superior rank--rose, in a state of nervous trepidation, to propose Isabel's health as the chosen bride of their host.

Pale and trembling, conscious of having forgotten the words which he had learnt beforehand, this unhappy young nobleman began: "Ladies and gentlemen, I haven't an idea--" He stopped, put his hand to his head, stared wildly, and sat down again; having contrived to state his own case with masterly brevity and perfect truth, in a speech of seven words.
While the dismay, in some cases, and the amusement in others, was still at its height, Hardyman's valet made his appearance, and, approaching his master, said in a whisper, "Could I speak to you, sit, for a moment outside ?" "What the devil do you want ?" Hardyman asked irritably.

"Is that a letter in your hand?
Give it to me." The valet was a Frenchman.

In other words, he had a sense of what was due to himself.

His master had forgotten this.