She turned her eyes upon Betsy coming up the garden walk, but the result of her observation was inconclusive; Mr. Long was at that instant making some remark to the girl, and she had her head slightly bent toward him, while she listened attentively—smilingly. Clearly she had not noticed the abrupt departure of Dick Sheridan. There was nothing in the attentive smile with which she was encouraging the remark of Mr. Long.
“He does not look a day over sixty,” said Mrs. Thrale.
“Nor a day under it,” responded Mrs. Cholmondeley. Garrick was quoting Shakespeare:
“Here comes the lady; O so light a foot
Will ne’er wear out the everlasting flint!”
And then Mr. Long and Miss Linley reached the group, and Betsy was responding with exquisite blushes to the patronising smiles of the ladies, who greeted her with effusion and Mr. Long with great self-possession.
Mr. Long was, however, the most self-possessed of the group. There was gravity as well as dignity in his acceptance of the congratulations of the party.
“I am the most fortunate of men, indeed,” he said, bowing low, and touching the grass of the border with the sweep of his hat.
“Nay, Mr. Long, do not depreciate your own worth by talking of fortune,” said Mrs. Thrale.
“There is philosophy in your suggestion, madam,” said he. “’Twas feeble of me to make the attempt to fall in with the general tone of the comments of my friends. Still, there is but one Miss Linley in the world.”