“It must be worth while for a female of Fashion,” my Lady was thinking, “to have a post about Queen Marie Antoinette, always the first in the land in modes and in looks as in everything else.”
Now Lady Selina Vereker, hearing the two women whisper as they stood together, lifted her eyes and watched and hearkened very intently.
“The young lady’s just engaged I take it,” said Pamela, shaking the tissue paper from a cobweb vision of blue tulle and lace.
“’Twas only ratified by Lady Ongar last night, from her retreat at Wimbledon. (They say it’s a convent of nuns my dear, but ’tis not generally known.)”
“Dear, to be sure, the poor lady!”
Here Kitty lowered her voice, but Selina’s irately keen ears caught the murmur.
“Sadly ill-provided for. My Lord Ongar’s affairs in a desperate state. Hardly a brass farthing between the three poor girls! A most prodigious relief to have the third settled.”
Then Pamela’s clear compassionate undertone.
“I trust the young lady is happy in her choice, so young as she looks.”
The milliner’s eye wandered to the Bride-elect and met her darkling gaze.