“By heaven, madam,” he exclaimed, his assurance no whit abated, “I protest ’twas marvellous well done, egad! We entertained an angel unawares; ’twas your divine self that honoured us, after all, then.”
“Indeed, sir!” she retorted in fierce scorn, “and ’twas your base self that I scorned then, as I do now—and ever shall!” And she left him to scowl after her while the room buzzed with talk and laughter.
“That Dering, of all men, should be so flammed! O monstrous rich!”
“When this gets round ... alas, poor Sir John! Ha, ha!”
“Poor Dering ... every coffee-house in town will ring with the tale!”
“He will never dare show his face in London after this!” etc. etc., until the long room echoed again.
Then the tall, folding doors were opened almost unnoticed, and a gorgeous menial solemnly announced:
“Sir John Dering!”