It was not until dinner was almost over that I found out he was the
Duke of Myrlshire, and ought to have taken in Lady Tilchester.
Augustus had placed himself next the purple lady, and his face grew a gray mauve with excitement at her gracious glances.
My ducal partner was unattractive. He had a squeaky voice and a nervous manner, but said some entreprenant things in a way which made me understand he is accustomed to be listened to with patience, not to say pleasure.
He told me he was grateful to Mr. Budge for his move, as he had been admiring me since the moment we arrived, and had determined, directly the mêlée began, to secure me if possible.
"Er—you don't look like an Englishwoman," he said, "and it is a nice change. My eye is wearied with them; their outlines are all exactly alike."
He further informed me that Paris was the only place to live in, and that the English as a nation were crude in their vices.
"They make such a noise about everything here," he added. "One cannot do a thing that it is not put the wrong way up in the halfpenny papers."
"The penalty of greatness," I said, laughing. "They don't worry at all, for instance, about what I am doing."
"Then they show extremely bad taste," he said, with a look of frank admiration.
Before the women swept in a body from the room, I understood that his object in life would henceforth be to make me sensible of his great worth and charm. All these masterful, forward sentiments sounded so comic, expressing themselves in his squeaky voice, I could not help smiling. He became radiant. He did not guess in the least what amused me.