“No—not I, faith!” was the reply given in a drawling tone, as if the gallant officer aforesaid were a martyr to that dreadful malady termed ennui. “Lady Noakes’s parties are such slow affairs—I have quite abjured them. Besides,” he added, suddenly recollecting that this was an excellent opportunity to throw in a compliment, “I knew you weren’t to be there.”
“Oh! dear, no!” exclaimed Miss Julia Matson—the second of the marriageable sisters: “one does meet such strange people at her ladyship’s, that we really could not think of accepting the invitation.”
“Well, but you must recollect, my dear,” observed Mrs. Matson, in a tone which seemed to be of mild reproof, “that poor dear Lady Noakes is only the widow of a brewer who was mayor of Deal or Sandwich, I forget which, and was knighted by William the Fourth for taking up some address to his Majesty.”
“That’s all!” said Miss Anna-Maria Matson, the third sister: “and therefore I am sure no one need be surprised that Lady Noakes is glad to fill her rooms with any body she can get.”
“Well, I was there last night,” observed another young officer—a lieutenant in the same regiment with Captain Phinnikin, and who formed one of the group at present occupying our attention: “and I must say that the supper was excellent.”
“Oh! but, Mr. Pink,” exclaimed the eldest Miss Matson, reproachfully, “it is so very easy to give a good supper—but not so easy to make the evening agreeable.”
“Granted!” rejoined the lieutenant: “and I must candidly admit that no parties are so agreeable as those at your house.”
“Flatterer!” cried Miss Matson, with a sweet smile. “I suppose the Browns were at her ladyship’s last night.”
“Oh! certainly. You meet them every where.”
“And, faith! Miss Amelia Brown is a deuced pleasant girl—deuced pleasant,” observed Captain Phinnikin.