“But that’s his part,” laughed Patty; “rather clever, I think, to dress as a fool, and then if you feel like a fool, you’re right in your part.”
“I say, Miss Bo-Peep, you’re clever, aren’t you?”
“Not so very; but when talking to a learned monk, I try to be as wise as I can. Oh, look at that stunning big man,—who is he?”
“Looks like one of the patriarchs; but I guess he’s meant for King Lear. See the wreath of flowers on his white hair.”
“Did Lear wear flowers? I thought he wore a crown.”
“Tut! tut! Little Bo-Peep, you must brush up your Shakespeare. Don’t you know King Lear became a little troubled in his head, and adorned himself with a garland?”
“Well, he’s awfully picturesque,” said Patty, quite undisturbed by her ignorance of the play, and looking admiringly at Lear’s magnificent court robes of velvet and ermine, and his long, flowing white hair and beard, and the garland of flowers that lay loosely on the glistening white wig and trailed down behind.
As they neared the picturesque figure, King Lear bowed low before Patty, and held out his hand for her dance card.
It was the rule of the ball not to speak, but to indicate invitations by gestures.
However, Patty had no reason to keep silent, as they were nearly all strangers, so she laughed, and spoke right out: “I’d gladly give you a dance, King Lear, but I haven’t one left.”