“Humph,” said the clergyman, stroking his chin, “the marquis did not, probably, include distinguished actresses, Lord William.”
“Actresses! have you judgment, Mr. Murray? Do but look with what majesty she speaks and moves!”
“So I have heard does Mrs. Siddons. Let us withdraw, Lord William.”
“Not yet, if you please, sir! I must first pay my respects to this lady. Will you favor me, monsieur?”
“Pardon! I will make you known to Colonel Compton, who will present you to the lady under his charge,” said the Frenchman, bowing, and leading the way, while the clergyman left behind only vented his dissatisfaction in a few emphatic grunts.
“Miss De Lancie, permit me to present to you Lord William Daw, of England,” said Colonel Compton, leading the youthful foreigner before the lady.
Miss De Lancie bowed and half arose. She received the young gentleman coldly, or rather absently, and to all that he advanced she replied abstractedly; for she had not yet freed herself from the trance that had lately bound her.
Nevertheless, Lord William found “grace and favor” in everything the enchantress said or did. He lingered near her until at last, with a congé of dismissal to her boyish admirer, she arose and signified her wish to retire from the saloon.
The next day but one was a memorable day in Philadelphia. It was the occasion of the public and final farewell of George Washington and the inauguration of his successor. From an early hour the city was thronged with visitors, who came, not so much to witness the installment of the new, as to take a tearful last look at the deeply-venerated, retiring President.
The profound public interest, however, did not prevent Lord William Daw from pursuing a quite private one. At an hour as early as the laxest etiquette would permit, he paid his respects to Miss De Lancie at the house of Colonel Compton, and procured himself to be invited by his host to join their party in witnessing the interesting ceremonies at the Hall of Representation.