She was attired in a loose white gown, supposed to be after the Greek pattern, and her arms were bare, the loose sleeves caught up with a large brooch. She wore her hair in a plain band with a fillet, and cut low on the forehead. This lady had sat for her portrait to Gainsborough in her youth, now long past, and she had become very stout since those days, when many reigning belles repaired to Gainsborough's studio in Ainslie's Belvedere.
She talked in a loud voice, and Leslie's attention was soon diverted from his companion, as he caught a name dear to him.
"Miss Mainwaring is a beauty, no doubt of that," the lady said; "but a trifle stiff and heavy in manner. Why is she absent to-night? You ought to know, Sir Maxwell."
Sir Maxwell stroked his chin, and said:
"Perhaps she is better engaged, from all I know. Miss Mainwaring's behaviour is a little eccentric."
"Is there a romance connected with her? I do love a bit of pretty romance. You know the on dit is that she is to be Lady Danby?"
"My dear lady," Sir Maxwell said, "it is not safe to trust to on dits. From what I have heard, Miss Mainwaring's tastes lie in a somewhat lower level of society than that in which you, for instance, live and move. There are, it seems, attractions for Miss Mainwaring in a quarter of the town where we look for actors and actresses, and such-like cattle—that is, supposing that we desire their acquaintance off the stage—which I, for one, do not!"
"I really hardly credit what you say; I vow I can't believe it. There's some mistake, Sir Maxwell."
"I wish I could agree with you," was the reply; "it is a matter which affects me very deeply. I do assure you——"
At this moment it was Sir Maxwell's turn to take the hand of Leslie's partner, and he repeated in a voice which he meant should reach his ear: