That day Lord Charles Belmour came, according to his promise, and just as I had convinced myself that it was my duty to overcome my dislike to him, and to endeavour to convert him from an enemy into a friend. Accordingly, I went down to dinner prepared to receive him with even smiles; but recollecting, when I saw him, his impudent assertion, that his admiration of me meant nothing, and that I was an alarmed prude, my usual coldness came over me, while the deepest blushes dyed my cheeks.
However, I extended my hand to him, which he kissed and pressed; and as he relinquished it he turned up his eyes and muttered "Angelic woman!" in a manner so equivocal, that, consistent as it seemed with "his joke against me," I could not help giving way to evident laughter.
Lord Charles was too quick of apprehension to be affronted at my mirth; on the contrary he felt assured and flattered by it. He had expressed his admiration only in derision and impertinence, and as he saw that I understood him, he felt we were much nearer being friends than we had ever been before; and when our eyes met, a look almost amounting to one of kindness passed between us. Lord Charles now became particularly animated; but some allusion which he made to Lady Bell Singleton, while addressing my husband, made me distrustful again, and I relapsed into my usual manner; and he was My Lord and Your Lordship, during the rest of the dinner. Nor could I be insensible to the look of menace which I subsequently beheld in his countenance. It was not long before the storm burst on my devoted head.
"My dear madam," said he in his most affected manner, "you are a prodigiously kind and obliging help-mate, to provide your caro sposo with so charming a locum tenens when you are confined to your apartments. I found my friend here with the prettiest young creature for a companion! and then so loving she was!"
"Loving!" said I involuntarily.
"Oh, yes. Allow me to give you an idea of her." Immediately, to the great annoyance of my husband, with all his powers of mimickry, he exhibited the manner and look of Charlotte Jermyn, when looking up in Seymour's face, and leaning against his arm, as I had myself seen her do.
"Is not that like her?"
"Very," replied I forcing a laugh.
"Now shall I mimick your husband, and show you how he looked in return? Shall I paint the bashful but delighted consciousness which his look expressed—the stolen glance, the—"
"Hush, hush!" cried Pendarves, anger struggling with confusion. "This is fancy painting, and I like nothing but portraits."