With measured steps, Mr. Valmont approached us three paces without the drawing room door. He conducted us to his lady; who, on a rich heavy and gilded sopha, sat in melancholy grandeur to receive us.
'But the niece,' I hear you cry, 'Not a single glimpse of her, I suppose?'
'Yes, Sir Walter Boyer, I have seen her.'
'Seen her! Why, I thought——.'
Psha! what can a Baronet have to do with thought?
Mark'd you her eye of heavenly blue!
Mark'd you her cheek of roseate hue!
Do you still doubt? Then shall I proceed, and fire your imagination with the graces of my goddess. All enchanting! nothing wanting! for I have gazed my fill—yes—on her picture.—Why look you so, Walter?—Am I not her predestined lover, and has she not 6000l. per annum?
'Pray, Madam, by what artist was this portrait done?' said I, to Mrs. Valmont, while the 'Squire and Earl were gone to visit the nymph of the south wing, with my imagination stealing after them on tiptoe.
'Not by any artist, Sir,' replied the lady. 'It was the performance of Clement Montgomery. It is drawn for my niece—.'
'Then she must have the honour greatly to resemble you, Madam. Upon my soul the likeness is astonishing.'