“Oh! Ma’am,” cried one of them, “we will suffer you with the greatest pleasure in life.”
“You will suffer us both,” answered she, “or I am much mistaken: you had better, therefore, make way quietly; for I should be sorry to give my servant the trouble of teaching you better manners.”
Her commanding air struck them, yet they all chose to laugh; and one of them wished the fellow would begin his lesson, that he might have the pleasure of rolling him into the Avon; while another, advancing to me with a freedom which made me start, said, “By my soul, I did not know you!-but I am sure I cannot be mistaken;-had not I the honour of seeing you once at the Pantheon?”
I then recollected the nobleman, who, at that place, had so much embarrassed me. I courtsied without speaking. They all bowed, and making, though in a very easy manner, an apology to Mrs. Selwyn, they suffered us to pass on, but chose to accompany us.
“And where,” continued this Lord, “can you so long have hid yourself? do you know I have been in search of you this age? I could neither find you out, nor hear of you: not a creature could inform me what was become of you. I cannot imagine where you could be immured. I was at two or three public places every night, in hopes of meeting you. Pray, did you leave town?”
“Yes, my Lord.”
“So early in the season!-what could possibly induce you to go before the birth-day?”
“I had nothing, my Lord, to do with the birth-day.”
“By my soul, all the women who had, may rejoice you were away. Have you been here any time?”
“Not above a fortnight, my Lord.”