“That rejoices me. And now touching this Duchess of Marlborough—”
“You will have to seek your examples of strong emotion outside my house, my friend. Do you fancy that Her Grace—”
“Is a woman? Nay, she is a very woman, so far as my poor observation, supplemented by a small trifle of experience, is permitted to judge. Think you that her sadness of visage is due to mortification that her spouse is still faithful to her?”
“Surely such a reflection should call for an expression of satisfaction, my fair observer.”
“Nay, Sir Godfrey; that were to take a view of the matter in no wise deep. Would you not have Her Grace to think as other women less formidable think, in this wise: 'what fate is mine to be wed to a man whom no woman thinks worth the tempting'?”
“Zounds, my Barry, that were the strangest way recorded to account for a wife's sadness. How know you that His Grace has not been tempted?”
“I make no such charge against him, Sir Godfrey; I think not such evil of him as that he hath not been tempted. I make but a humble attempt to think as Her Grace may think when she has her moods.”
“That were a presumption for such as you, madam. What! you an actress, and she a duchess, and yet you would venture—”
The laugh which illuminated the face of Sir Godfrey had scarcely passed away before his servant entered the painting room in haste, announcing that the coach of the Duchess of Marlborough was at the door, and that Her Grace was in the act of dismounting.
“That means that my sitting is at an end,” said Mrs. Barry.