“I bespeak yours, Mr. Pope!” says she. “Your pen won’t desert me, and ’tis more powerful than any sword or Act of Parliament. ’Tis so known to be employed always on the side of virtue and weakness that when it defends my lovers (should defence be needed) detraction itself will run to cover. Have I your protection?”
The word delighted the Wasp of Twick’nam. He bowed in the Versailles manner.
“Your Grace needs no assurance. The town will buzz with this tomorrow, but I’m ready, and ’twill be a delight to see what can be said in defence of a position that cannot be defended on any pretence whatever.”
“No more it can! But it will,” agrees the Duchess, dismissing him charmingly.
When all were gone she turned to my Lady Fanny, the sole survivor.
“ ’Tis done, my dear, and I know not whether I have damned them or myself. But I’ll never do it again. No, not even for my Fanny. Therefore be circumspect.”
“You’re a brave woman. I never admired you more!” cries Lady Fanny. “I could not myself have done it. But you have secured them from much grief, and if you’ve opened the way to more, ’tis not for any one to blame you. Come up and let us tell Diana what hath past.”
They did so, and she kissed that generous hand with love and gratitude, and trembling hope.
