VALENTINE. I have had the honour. Miss Phoebe, I regret to say, is now lying down with the headache. (The ladies are too delicately minded to exchange glances before a man, but they are privately of opinion that this meeting after ten years with the dazzling BROWN has laid MISS PHOEBE low. They are in a twitter of sympathy with her, and yearning to see MISS SUSAN alone, so that they may draw from her an account of the exciting meeting.) You do not favour the ball to-night?
MISS FANNY. I confess balls are distasteful to me.
MISS HENRIETTA. 'Twill be a mixed assembly. I am credibly informed that the woollen draper's daughter has obtained a card.
VALENTINE (gravely). Good God, ma'am, is it possible?
MISS WILLOUGHBY. We shall probably spend the evening here with Miss Susan at the card table.
VALENTINE. But Miss Susan goes with me to the ball, ma'am.
(This is scarcely less exciting to them than the overthrow of the Corsican.)
VALENTINE. Nay, I hope there be no impropriety. Miss Livvy will accompany her.
MISS WILLOUGHBY (bewildered). Miss Livvy?
VALENTINE. Their charming niece.