Mrs. Gosport appeared at last in a purple silk gown, and marched to the carriage without the slightest sign of the discomfort she really felt; but that was no wonder, belonging, as she did, to a sex which can walk not only smiling but jauntily, though dead lame on stilts, as you may see any day in Regent Street.
Sir Charles, with mock gravity, ushered King Baby and his attendants in first, then Lady Bassett, and got in last himself.
Before they had gone a mile Nurse No. 1 handed the child over to Nurse No. 2 with a lofty condescension, as who should say, “You suffice for porterage; I, the superior artist, reserve myself for emergencies.” No. 2 received the invaluable bundle with meek complacency.
By-and-by Nurse 1 got fidgety, and kept changing her position.
“What is the matter, Mary?” said Lady Bassett, kindly. “Is the dress too tight?”
“No, no, my lady,” said Mary, sharply; “the gownd's all right.” And then she was quiet a little.
But she began again; and then Lady Bassett whispered Sir Charles, “I think she wants to sit forward: may I?”
“Certainly not. I'll change with her. Here, Mary, try this side. We shall have more room in the landau; it is double, with wide seats.”
Mary was gratified, and amused herself looking out of the window. Indeed, she was quiet for nearly half an hour. At the expiration of that period the fit took her again. She beckoned haughtily for baby, “which did come at her command,” as the song says. She got tired of baby, or something, and handed him back again.
Presently she was discovered to be crying.