MRS. S. Yes—to do them, justice, they fairly danced me off my feet, and yet I am neither grown better tempered, nor better looking, than I was three months ago, when at a previous party not one of them condescended to select me for a partner; but then, on the other hand, I am fifteen thousand pounds richer.
PEGGY. (suddenly, and giving MRS. SOMERTON’S hair another jerk) That’s it! Ah, ma’am, these lords of the creation, as they call themselves, are but a poor mean selfish set after all.
MRS. S. Selfish! No, not all—(sighing)—there is one at least.
PEGGY. No! Is there?—he must be quite a curiosity! Oh, ma’am, who is he?
MRS. S. It’s a long story, Peggy, and it’s getting late.
PEGGY. It’s never too late to hear good news.
MRS. S. Then listen, Peggy. You remember that about ten months ago I was earnestly advised by my physicians to pay a short visit to the continent.
PEGGY. Yes; and I remember too that you came home quite an altered woman—I never saw hair dressed in such an extraordinary style—never!
MRS. S. Don’t interrupt me. I had been in Paris about three weeks, when one evening on my return from the opera, I found a note on my dressing table, containing these words—“I have seen you, and to see you is to love you. I am young, tolerably handsome, and sufficiently rich, yet as I cannot presume to present myself to you until you permit me to do so, I shall venture to remind you from time to time that I am near you.”
PEGGY. Well I’m sure, Mr. Impudence; and what was the fellow’s name?