“Lady F—— is the star of the night,” observed lady Frances’s partner, gazing at Letitia through his glass. “Peerless indeed!”
Lady Frances made no answer, which emboldened the gentleman to proceed.
“The star of the night, as she has often been called, and never more justly. Never, in the proudest moment of her glory, was she more lovely.”
Still lady Frances was silent.
“Perhaps your ladyship feels this to be the night of her glory; and, indeed, it is a triumph to have risen, through her own radiance, into a higher sphere.”
“I question whether she feels it so,” replied lady Frances. “Letitia is very proud, and her pride takes rather an odd turn. She would tell you that she considers it a condescension to come among us, who are only born to our station.”
“Surprising! And what inspired her condescension?”
“O, love, of course; pure love. Nothing else could have prevailed with her to submit to marriage. You should hear her talk of the condition of wives,—how she pitied all till she became one herself. You cannot conceive what poor slaves she thinks them.”
“And what says lord F——?”
“He is fired by her eloquence. You have no idea how eloquent she is. She pours it out as if....”