Luncheon passed off very well. Sir Charles returned from the City improved in temper, and, as Lady Ver had predicted, presented her with a Cartier jewel. It was a brooch, not a ring, but she was delighted, and purred to him.
He was a little late and we were seated, a party of eight, when he came in. They all chaffed him about Paris, and he took it quite good-humouredly—he even seemed pleased. He has no wit, but he looks like a gentleman, and I daresay as husbands go he is suitable.
I am getting quite at home in the world, and can talk to any one. I listen and I do not talk much, only when I want to say something that makes them think.
A very nice man sat next me to-day, he reminded me of the old generals at Branches. We had quite a war of wits, and it stimulated me.
He told me, among other things, when he discovered who I was, that he had known papa—papa was in the same Guards with him—and that he was the best-looking man of his day. Numbers of women were in love with him, he said, but he was a faithless being and rode away.
“He probably enjoyed himself, don’t you think so? and he had the good luck to die in his zenith,” I said.
“He was once engaged to Lady Merrenden, you know. She was Lady Sophia Vavasour then, and absolutely devoted to him, but Mrs. Carruthers came between them and carried him off; she was years older than he was, too, and as clever as paint.”
“Poor papa seems to have been a weak creature, I fear.”
“All men are weak,” he said.
“And then he married and left Mrs. Carruthers, I suppose?” I asked. I wanted to hear as much as I could.