Mrs. Blandish. Some woman of taste, to inquire your correspondent at Paris—or—
Enter Miss Alton.
Miss Alscrip courtesying respectfully; Miss Alton retiring disconcerted.
Miss Als. Of taste indeed, by her appearance!—Who's in the antichamber? Why did they not open the folding doors?—Chignon, approach a fauteuil for the lady.
Miss Alton. Madam, I come!—
Miss Als. Madam, pray be seated—
Miss Alton. Excuse me, madam,—
Miss Als. Madam, I must beg—
Miss Alton. Madam, this letter will inform you how little pretension I have to the honours you are offering.
Miss Als. [Reads.] Miss Alton, the bearer of this, is the person I recommended as worthy the honour of attending you as a companion. [Eyes her scornfully.] She is born a gentlewoman; I dare say her talents and good qualities will speak more in her favour, than any words I could use—I am, Madam, your most obedient—um—um—. Blandish, was there ever such a mistake?