“Did your ladyship, indeed?” cries Sophia, blushing, and affecting a laugh.
“Yes, I vow I did,” answered she. “I can't imagine what put it into my head: for, give the fellow his due, he was genteely drest; which, I think, dear Sophy, is not commonly the case with your friend.”
“This raillery,” cries Sophia, “is a little cruel, Lady Bellaston, after my promise to your ladyship.”
“Not at all, child,” said the lady;——“It would have been cruel before; but after you have promised me never to marry without your father's consent, in which you know is implied your giving up Jones, sure you can bear a little raillery on a passion which was pardonable enough in a young girl in the country, and of which you tell me you have so entirely got the better. What must I think, my dear Sophy, if you cannot bear a little ridicule even on his dress? I shall begin to fear you are very far gone indeed; and almost question whether you have dealt ingenuously with me.”
“Indeed, madam,” cries Sophia, “your ladyship mistakes me, if you imagine I had any concern on his account.”
“On his account!” answered the lady: “You must have mistaken me; I went no farther than his dress;——for I would not injure your taste by any other comparison—I don't imagine, my dear Sophy, if your Mr Jones had been such a fellow as this—”
“I thought,” says Sophia, “your ladyship had allowed him to be handsome”——
“Whom, pray?” cried the lady hastily.
“Mr Jones,” answered Sophia;—and immediately recollecting herself, “Mr Jones!—no, no; I ask your pardon;—I mean the gentleman who was just now here.”
“O Sophy! Sophy!” cries the lady; “this Mr Jones, I am afraid, still runs in your head.”