“But what can induce you to think of me, my Lady Flo? Poor little retiring me?”
“Pray my dear, do not play the Molly Lafone with me!”
Molly Lafone! Such a comparison was too comic! Kitty laughed, and dropped her not very successful mask.
“Upon my word, then, I believe it would suit me! But how can it be accomplished? I am not one to push myself forward. My Lord Kilcroney is an Irishman and no courtier, and their Majesties have their own favourites; and indeed to begin with, I doubt whether you will find it so easy to resign.”
“Resign, Kitty! Resign? No, dear Kilcroney, I am on the point of being graciously dismissed. It took some management, but I was desperate. Another month of this, I said, and Mr. Stamer will be able to look out for a new wife—which he would do, my dear love, across my very coffin—’twas yesterday sennight then, I made up my mind. I took my best rose-point flounce—by the mercy of heaven it was just returned from the lace-menders, neatly packed in tissue tied with ribbon and a scent bag within, as elegant a parcel as you could wish to see!—and I sought Mrs. Schwellenberg—aye, that same!—and says I, ‘For mercy’s sake, give me a chair. My poor feet will scarce support me?’ At which she looks as sour as a crab, and quoth she: ‘We all have veet, Lady Florence’ (you know her vile accent), ‘but we forget dem in our great honour and brivilege,’ ‘Would God I could forget mine,’ thinks I. But she glances at the parcel in my hand: ‘Take a zeat,’ she says with a roll of her old eye. ‘Ah, my good Frau,’ says I to myself, ‘you may look, but you shan’t clutch yet a bit!’”
Lady Florence laughed reminiscently, and Kitty screamed:
“Never tell me you gave the old Dutch villain your rose-point flounce!”
“And what would be the good of a rose-point flounce to me, when I should be dropped dead in the Queen’s apartment, like any hackney jade? My love, I showed that ancient toad my two feet—and I vow toad is a good name for her, for she hath the countenance and the croak of her own pet frogs—I showed her my feet, and I lamented my stones of weight. ’Pon rep! I gave myself sixteen, I did indeed, and what with the swelling, I looked ’em! ‘Let me confide in you,’ I cries, ‘if ever I saw a truly noble soul writ on a human brow, ’tis on yours! My frame,’ I cries, ‘is not equal to my devotion. My ankles will not support the loyalty of my heart! ’tis not that I should grudge passing away in such service,’ I cries, turning up my eyes—You could not have done it better, Kitty!—‘but were I to faint in those sacred precincts, were I to pass away in that august Presence, Her Majesty would be justly annoyed. Dr. Jebb has warned me. Alas! look at me. Am I not fat?’ ‘Vat you are,’ says she, ‘but so am I.’ Well, then, my love, I gave her a peep of the lace, and she began to dribble at the corners of her mouth, and I knew the trick was done! ‘If I speak to Her Majesty,’ says she, and she fingering my rose-point, ‘I vonder vot substitute I could suggest. Her Majesty she does not like the changes, and——’ And then, I thought of you, Kitty.”
“I wonder why, in the name of Heaven!” cried this lady tartly.
“Your feet won’t swell, my love.”