“Oh, I know well that you are sans reproche among senators;—as Mr. Harold Smith is sans peur;—eh, my dear?”
“I must confess that you have contrived to be uncommonly severe upon them both,” said Mrs. Harold, laughing; “and as regards poor Harold, most undeservedly so: Nathaniel is here, and may defend himself.”
“And no one is better able to do so on all occasions. But, my dear Mr. Sowerby, I am dying of despair. Do you think he’ll come?”
“He? who?”
“You stupid man—as if there were more than one he! There were two, but the other has been.”
“Upon my word, I don’t understand,” said Mr. Sowerby, now again at his ease. “But can I do anything? shall I go and fetch any one? Oh, Tom Towers! I fear I can’t help you. But here he is at the foot of the stairs!” And then Mr. Sowerby stood back with his sister to make way for the great representative man of the age.
“Angels and ministers of grace, assist me!” said Miss Dunstable. “How on earth am I to behave myself? Mr. Sowerby, do you think that I ought to kneel down? My dear, will he have a reporter at his back in the royal livery?” And then Miss Dunstable advanced two or three steps—not into the doorway, as she had done for Mr. Sowerby—put out her hand, and smiled her sweetest on Mr. Towers, of the Jupiter.
“Mr. Towers,” she said, “I am delighted to have this opportunity of seeing you in my own house.”
“Miss Dunstable, I am immensely honoured by the privilege of being here,” said he.
“The honour done is all conferred on me,” and she bowed and curtseyed with very stately grace. Each thoroughly understood the badinage of the other; and then, in a few moments, they were engaged in very easy conversation.