"With all their beauty," remarked Ponsonby's friend, "men soon grow tired of those Jerseys, with the exception only of Lady ——, with whom the wicked world say the Duke of Argyle has been in love more than twenty years."
"Is not the boy they call Frank supposed to be a son of the duke?" I asked.
"I have heard so; but let us hope it is all vile scandal."
"With all my heart; but how does Lady Fanny Ponsonby pass her time?"
"She draws prettily," he observed: "and she has now got a little companion she is very fond of."
"Who is that?" said I.
"A mouse, which, having one night showed its little face to her ladyship in her drawing-room, she so coaxed him with her dainties for three weeks together, that she contrived to tame him: and now he will eat them out of her lovely hands."
"But then after the mouse is gone to bed," said I, "how does her ladyship amuse herself?"
"With her younger sister, or in writing or drawing. Lady Fanny does not much care for society."