“Well, I should think one conquest would be enough; and too much, unless the subjugation were mutual.”
“Oh, but you know I never agree with you on those points. Now, wait a bit, and I’ll tell you my principal admirers—those who made themselves very conspicuous that night and after: for I’ve been to two parties since. Unfortunately the two noblemen, Lord G—— and Lord F——, were married, or I might have condescended to be particularly gracious to them; as it was, I did not: though Lord F——, who hates his wife, was evidently much struck with me. He asked me to dance with him twice—he is a charming dancer, by-the-by, and so am I: you can’t think how well I did—I was astonished at myself. My lord was very complimentary too—rather too much so in fact—and I thought proper to be a little haughty and repellent; but I had the pleasure of seeing his nasty, cross wife ready to perish with spite and vexation—”
“Oh, Miss Murray! you don’t mean to say that such a thing could really give you pleasure? However cross or—”
“Well, I know it’s very wrong;—but never mind! I mean to be good some time—only don’t preach now, there’s a good creature. I haven’t told you half yet. Let me see. Oh! I was going to tell you how many unmistakeable admirers I had:—Sir Thomas Ashby was one,—Sir Hugh Meltham and Sir Broadley Wilson are old codgers, only fit companions for papa and mamma. Sir Thomas is young, rich, and gay; but an ugly beast, nevertheless: however, mamma says I should not mind that after a few months’ acquaintance. Then, there was Henry Meltham, Sir Hugh’s younger son; rather good-looking, and a pleasant fellow to flirt with: but being a younger son, that is all he is good for; then there was young Mr. Green, rich enough, but of no family, and a great stupid fellow, a mere country booby! and then, our good rector, Mr. Hatfield: an humble admirer he ought to consider himself; but I fear he has forgotten to number humility among his stock of Christian virtues.”
“Was Mr. Hatfield at the ball?”
“Yes, to be sure. Did you think he was too good to go?”
“I thought be might consider it unclerical.”
“By no means. He did not profane his cloth by dancing; but it was with difficulty he could refrain, poor man: he looked as if he were dying to ask my hand just for one set; and—oh! by-the-by—he’s got a new curate: that seedy old fellow Mr. Bligh has got his long-wished-for living at last, and is gone.”
“And what is the new one like?”
“Oh, such a beast! Weston his name is. I can give you his description in three words—an insensate, ugly, stupid blockhead. That’s four, but no matter—enough of him now.”