“I protest, my dear Caroline,” said the mellifluous Cheriton; “it is merely my desire to put another plume in your helmet. The creature will look ravishing as Araminta, Duchess of Dorset. Pelissier shall come this afternoon to copy the picture de haut en bas.”
“It has been copied once already.”
“Ah, no! It supplied an idea or two merely. When you see it in every detail precisely as Gainsborough saw it, you will observe the difference.”
“People must be as sick of the picture as I am by this time.”
“Nonsense! They are only just beginning to realize that you’ve got a picture.”
Let it not be thought an injustice to Cheriton if one other motive is advanced for his insistence upon a somewhat singular course. When the cards of invitation had been duly issued he rather let the cat out of his bag.
“Of course, Caroline, you would be obstinate,” said he, “and have your own way about that fellow George Betterton, but you know as well as I do that in any kind of fancy clothes he looks like a boa-constrictor.”
At first Cheriton professed himself unable to decide whether he should appear as Charles II. or as John Wesley. In the end, however, he decided in favor of the former. Miss Burden had not been so excited for years. The subject filled her thoughts day and night for a whole week after the momentous decision was taken. She then submitted one day to his lordship at luncheon a peculiarly difficult problem.
“Not a problem at all,” said he. “Simplest thing in the world, my dear lady. There is only one possible person you can go as.”
“I had been thinking of Mary Queen of Scots,” said Miss Burden, hardly daring to hope that Lord Cheriton would give his sanction.