"It is necessary, Constance," said the knight quickly, "absolutely necessary, that I should sometimes be allowed half-an-hour's conversation alone, especially at the present moment. I will come to-morrow early, very early, if it can be then. May I?"
"Yes," said Lady Constance, "I will see. But who are these? They are coming to us."
"It is Lord Darby," said the knight, "and, if I mistake not, Lady Katrine Bulmer."
"Dear Polacco!" cried Lord Darby, approaching with a lady, who, to use an old writer's description, was wondrous gay in her apparel, with a marvellous strange and rich tire on her head: "dear Polacco, I am but now aware of how much I have to thank you for. What! you were near tilting at the Rochester host, and broaching me half-a-dozen plank-shavers on your spear in defence of a fair lady, and also took my part even before you knew me? Now, will I guess who is this silver fair one by your side? she's blushing through her mask as if I were going to pronounce her name with the voice of a trumpet. Well, sweet cousin! will you own that you have a wild and rattle-pated relation in the good town of Westminster? and if so, though you cannot love him, will you love a very loveable creature for his sake?"
"Hush, mad-cap! let me speak!" said the voice of Lady Katrine Bulmer. "Lady," she continued, placing herself by the side of Lady Constance, "will you hate one that would fain love you very much, and have your love again?"
"Heaven forbid!" replied Lady Constance. "'Tis so sweet to be loved ourselves, that feeling it, we can scarce refuse it again to those that love us: with a reservation, though," she added.
"Granted the reservation, that there is still a one must be loved best," said Lady Katrine; "we all four know it," and she glanced her merry eyes round the circle. "Oh, what a happy thing is a mask! Here one may confess one's love, or laugh at one's friends, or abuse one's relations, without a blush; and surely, if they were worn always, they would save a world of false smiles and a world of false tears. Oh, strange economy! What an ocean of grimaces might be spared if man were but to wear a pasteboard face!"
"I am afraid that he does so more than you think, lady," replied Sir Osborne. "You will own that his countenance is hollow, and that its smiles are painted: in short, that it is all a picture, though a moving one."
"Listen to him!" cried Lady Katrine, raising her look to Lord Darby; "think of his having the impudence to moralise in the presence of two women! Would you have believed it?"
"Nay, fair lady! it was you who led the way," replied Sir Osborne. "But what means that trumpet in these peaceful halls?"