Leinster approached us with a look of extreme impatience.
"Good night, my lord," said I, waving my hand, as I joined His Grace. Worcester bowed low and hastened out of sight.
"If Leinster were not my friend," said Worcester to a gentleman who afterwards repeated it to me, pointing to Leinster and myself, as we stood in the round room waiting for His Grace's carriage; "if that young man were not my friend, I would make him walk over my dead body before he should take Harriette out of this house."
Oh, this love! this love!
Amy's rooms were not full. It was her last party for that season. There was nobody in town, so, faute de mieux, since Mildmay had cut her, she was making up to a Mr. Boultby, a black, little, ugly dragoon, whom she declared was exactly to her taste.
"Come to Brighton," said Amy to her hero.
He assured her that, if his regiment had not been stationed there, he would have joined her, since he felt that he could not live out of her smiles.
"How can you strive to make fools of people?" said I.
"What do you mean?" inquired Amy fiercely.
"Why, seriously, Mr. Boultby," continued I, "take my word, she has no fancy for you."