“But they can be scarcely expected to see it should make theirs!” interrupted the Duchess with a hidden smile in her eyes. It was somewhat absurd to hear a man who knew the world present his case in this way.
“True, madam. Well, I will trouble your Grace no more. Mrs. Hart has a large society—if it could content her—and the admiration of every man of judgment who ever beheld her.”
“She appears then like the man in the fairy tale who having got the moon wanted the sun also.”
“Are not your sex ever so, madam?”
“May be, may be not. Well, my good Sir William, I desire to see your paragon at closer quarters. Would she consent, do you think, to come quietly to my salon one evening and sing for an old lady who finds San Carlo somewhat fatiguing? May I see those poses of which all the world talks? Whatever the lady be she won’t hurt either my morals or my manners!” She laughed softly, and Sir William grew hot in his reply.
“She will hurt no one’s, your Grace. Rather others may learn from her. But, indeed, if it gives you pleasure she will do her best to please you from her good heart, which shows equal kindness to the beggars on the quay as to the greatest duchess in England.”
“And very commendable!” says her Grace, slowly furling her fan. “Then do me the favour to bring her on the evening of Thursday and then, if you would have a candid opinion, it is yours.”
They talked a little longer of other matters; indeed, the Duchess lingered until the sun was low and the shadows long. A man dark-browed and swarthily beautiful, lying against the pedestal of the marble faun near at hand, took up his guitar, and sang low and sweet in a mellow tenor while she beat time gently with a jewelled hand on her knee.
Mare si lucido,
Lido si caro,