“I cannot believe it. Do you find it so?”
“I? No, indeed; did you tell me I had the happiest disposition? But every young lady is soon bored by Brighton, I assure you. It is not at all the thing to continue being pleased with it.”
“I daresay those same young ladies would declare themselves bored in London as easily. For my part, even though the balls and the assemblies palled I could gaze forever on such a prospect as this.”
“I venture to think that the first sober-looking morning will make you change your mind. Or do you refer not to the sea, after all, but to Golden Ball instead? That, I agree, is a prospect one cannot soon tire of.”
She leaned forward to look down into the road, and following the direction of the Captain’s eyes, looked with amused appreciation at a chocolate-coloured barouche, drawn by white horses, which was being driven slowly down the parade by a tall, thin gentleman, who had so exaggerated an air of fashion that he must in any company be remarkable.
“You forget,” she replied, “Mr. Hughes Ball is a sight I have enjoyed in London these six or seven months. He lives in Brook Street, you know, and once did me the honour of calling on me. Who is that queer old gentleman with powdered hair, and a rose in his button-hole? How odd he looks, to be sure!”
“What, do you not know Old Blue Hanger?” demanded the Captain. “My dear Miss Taverner, that is Lord Coleraine. You may know him by his green coat, and his powder. You must have met his brother in town.”
“Oh, Colonel Hanger! Yes, I have met him, of course.”
“And disliked him very thoroughly,” said the Captain, with a twinkle. “He is not such a bad fellow, but to tell you the truth, the Regent’s intimates are never excessively well-liked by the rest of the world. Here is one of them tittuping up the parade now. You must go far before you will find McMahon’s equal. There, the little man in the blue and buff uniform, bowing and scraping before Lady Downshire.”
She remarked: “So that is the Regent’s secretary! He is very ugly.”