“Dear, it must be true, then,” said Grandmamma, taking another pinch. “What a pity!—Be sure you do not forget the Paradise pudding.”
“Yes, Madam. They say, Madam, the Prince was nigh heart-broke that he couldn’t come on.”
“Ah, I dare say. Poor young gentleman!” said Mrs Newton. “Dear Mrs Desborough, do excuse me, but where did you meet with that lovely crewel fringe on your curtains? It is so exactly what I wanted and could not get anywhere.”
“I got it at Cooper and Smithson’s—Holborn Bars, you know,” said Grandmamma. “This is sad news, indeed. But your curtains, my dear, have an extreme pretty trimming.”
“Oh, tolerable,” said Mrs Newton, gathering up her hoop.
Away they went, with another lament over the Prince and the news; and I sat wondering whether everybody in this world were as hollow as a tobacco-pipe. I do think, in London, they must be.
Then my thoughts went back to my Aunt Kezia’s letter.
“Grandmamma,” I said, after a few minutes’ reflection, “may I have a chair this afternoon? I want to go and see Hatty.”
Grandmamma nodded. She had come, I think, to an awkward place in her tatting.
“Take Caesar with you,” was all she said.