“None.”
“Well, let me dispatch Lady Babbleton, and I’ll then devote myself to being your nomenclator.”
We walked up to Lady Babbleton, who had already disposed of her daughters, and was sitting in solitary dignity at the end of the room.
“My dear Lady Babbleton,” cried Lady Harriett, taking both the hands of the dowager, “I am so glad to see you, and how well you are looking; and your charming daughters, how are they?—sweet girls!—and how long have you been here?”
“We have only just come,” replied the cidevant milliner, half rising and rustling her plumes in stately agitation, like a nervous parrot; “we must conform to modern ours, Lady Arriett, though for my part, I like the old-fashioned plan of dining early, and finishing one’s gaieties before midnight; but I set the fashion of good ours as well as I can. I think it’s a duty we owe to society, Lady Arriett, to encourage morality by our own example. What else do we have rank for?” And, so saying, the counter countess drew herself up with a most edifying air of moral dignity.
Lady Harriett looked at me, and perceiving that my eye said “go on,” as plain as eye could possibly speak, she continued—“Which of the wells do you attend, Lady Babbleton?”
“All,” replied the patronizing dowager. “I like to encourage the poor people here; I’ve no notion of being proud because one has a title, Lady Arriett.”
“No,” rejoined the worthy helpmate of Sir Lionel Garrett; “every body talks of your condescension, Lady Babbleton; but are you not afraid of letting yourself down by going every where?”
“Oh,” answered the countess, “I admit very few into my set, at home, but I go out promiscuously;” and then, looking at me, she said, in a whisper, to Lady Harriett, “Who is that nice young gentleman?”
“Mr. Pelham,” replied Lady Harriett; and, turning to me, formally introduced us to each other.