When we got back, Augustus was swinging Lady Grenellen in a lovely Louis XV. balançoire, fixed up between two elm-trees; she put one foot out, and looked so lovely and radiant!
Augustus had the expression of one of those negro pages Thackeray drew in The Virginians—a mixture of pride and self-complacency—a he held the red silk ropes.
Tea was so merry! No one was witty like grandmamma and the Marquis, but every one was in a good temper and it was gay.
The party was rather more punctual at dinner on Sunday night, and Lady Tilchester had arranged, as she meant to the night before, that I should sit next her politician. Mr. Budge and Mrs. Gurrage—the names went well together!
I do not know anything about politics, but he is what I suppose must be a Radical, as he preaches home rule for Ireland, and equal rights for all mankind, and an apologetic tone to other nations, and a general dividing up of all one's biens. But they say he has a splendid house in Grosvenor Square, and a flat in Paris, and never asks any but the smartest titled people to his big pheasant shoot in Suffolk.
He was delightful at dinner, anyway, and made me laugh. His voice is clear, with just the faintest touch of Irish in it. And he sparred with Lady Tilchester across me.
She is the greatest grande dame one could meet, and a Tory to the backbone in politics, but her manner to the servants is not nearly so haughty as Mr. Budge's.
I do not like his hands; I cannot say why; they are neither big nor ill-shapen, but there is something fat and feminine about the fingers. I dare say, underneath, he could be like Augustus.
Lady Tilchester is devoted to him, and he has the greatest admiration and respect for her. Their conversation is most interesting.
Some of the other men are very nice, and several of them almost come up to grandmamma's criterion of the perfect male—that he should "look like a man and behave like a gentleman."