“It can't be!—tell me, though, is it true?”
I could only simper.
“Why don't you tell me?—but it can't be—I don't believe it!—no, you are an impostor!”
Sir Joshua and Lord Palmerston were both at her side—oh, how notably silly must I look! She again repeated her question of “Is it true?” and I again affected not to understand her: and then Sir Joshua, taking hold on her arm, attempted to pull her away, saying
“Come, come, Mrs. Cholmondeley, I won't have her overpowered here!”
I love Sir Joshua much for this. But Mrs. Cholmondeley, turning to him, said, with quickness and vehemence:—
“Why, I a'n't going to kill her! don't be afraid, I sha'n't compliment her!—I can't, indeed!”
Then, taking my hand, she led me through them all, to another part of the room, where again she examined my phiz, and viewed and reviewed my whole person.
“Now,” said she, “do tell me; is it true?”
“What, ma'am?—I don't-I don't know what—”