"Not till I hear the end of Dame Bess."
"Best, my lady."
"Dame Best interests _me,_ Mr. Vane."
"Ay, and Ernest is very fond of her, too, when he is at home. She is in
her nice new cottage, dear; but she misses the draughts that were in her
old one--they were like old friends. 'The only ones I have, I'm
thinking,' said the dear cross old thing; and there stood I, on her
floor, with a flannel petticoat in both hands, that I had made for her,
and ruined my finger. Look else, my Lord Foppington?" She extended a hand
the color of cream.
"Permit me, madam?" taking out his glasses, with which he inspected her
finger; and gravely announced to the company: "The laceration is, in
fact, discernible. May I be permitted, madam," added he, "to kiss this
fair hand, which I should never have suspected of having ever made itself
half so useful?"
"Ay, my lord!" said she, coloring slightly, "you shall, because you are
so old; but I don't say for a young gentleman, unless it was the one that
belongs to me; and he does not ask me."
"My dear Mabel; pray remember we are not at Willoughby."
"I see we are not, Ernest." And the dove-like eyes filled brimful; and
all her innocent prattle was put an end to.
"What brutes men are," thought Mrs. Woffington. "They are not worthy even
of a fool like this."
Mr. Vane once more pressed her to hear a little music in the garden; and
this time she consented.
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