After looking at me very earnestly, while sipping his coffee, he came close up to me, and said, resuming his most affected tone, "Pray! what eye-water do you use?"
"Rose water only," was my reply.
"Very bad, 'pon honour; I must send you some of mine, as you are a person of exquisite sensibility, and I fancy it is likely to be tried. Upon my word, it took me a week to compose it; and as I occasionally read novels, and the Tête-à-tête Magazine, (which is, you know, exceedingly affecting), I use it continually in order to preserve the lustre of my eyes; and you see that in spite of my acute feelings they retain all their pristine brilliancy."
As he said this, neither Pendarves nor myself, though provoked at his noticing my swelled eyes, could retain our gravity; for the eyes, which he had thus opened to their utmost extent, were of that description known by the name of boiled gooseberries, and were really dead eyes, except when the rays of satirical intelligence forced themselves through them: for the sake of exciting a laugh, he had now dismissed from them every trace of meaning, and consequently every tint of colour.
His purpose effected, he resumed his sarcastic expression; and turning from me with a look full of sarcastic meaning, he said, "Ah! comme de coutume—after tragedy comes farce."
My mother now asked him whether he had ever seen her house and garden; and on his answering in the negative, she challenged him to take a walk with her.
"I never," replied he, bowing very low, "refused the challenge of a fine woman in my life; and till my horses come round, I am at your service, madam." Then, hiding his real chagrin under a thousand impertinent grimaces, he followed my mother.
"I would give something to hear their conversation," said Pendarves, thoughtfully.
"And so would I: no doubt it will be monitory on her part."
"Monitory! What for?"