"Mad, mad!" rejoined Lord Gascoigne, "pray take heed." With many hems and ha's, Sir William Temple remarked, that for his part he thought it cruel to delight in mischief; that to him it always appeared a most uncharitable practice to wound another's feelings—and somewhat rude too; fit only for the vulgar.
"The pleasure or amusement," he continued, "of saying ill-natured things is quite beyond my comprehension—quite inconceivable. I remember, when I used to live a good deal at D—— House, there was a rule established that no one should notice, remark, or seem to observe what was passing;—it was considered so very vulgar to interfere with other people's affairs—all were left at large without account or question—and the consequence was, there never was any thing so enchanting since the world began as that society—so suave, so equal, so gentle, so serene;—not a voice ever heard louder than a whisper—every one so well amused, every one so well employed, that ennui was unknown. There never was any thing to compare to that society."
"De graces!" exclaimed the Comtesse Leinsengen, as Sir William concluded this effusion of his reminiscences, "de graces! do not tell us, Sir Villiam, of vat VAS: to talk of tings gone being delightful is like telling a woman who is passée, 'I remember when you were so admired.' De ting to talk of is to-day."
"Oh, of course," rejoined Sir William, taking the Comtesse's last words au pied de la lettre, "of course the society of to-day—the society here—is par excellence, the most delightful in the world." A nod here passed between Spencer Newcombe and Lord Gascoigne, indicative of Sir William having escaped from his blunders with more adroitness than they had given him credit for; and at the same moment the ladies rose to depart.
"Vraiment," exclaimed the Comtesse Leinsengen, as she entered the drawing-rooms, "I do tink, as we are de deities of dis fête, ces messieurs might for once have broken through dere abominable customs, and accompanied us; but dat terrible Lord Somerton and dat young milor Tonnerre would tink, I suppose, de constitution in danger, if dey did not remain at de table after de ladies.—I vonder, Miladi Baskerville, comme Milor est votre éléve, dat you do not teach him better."
"Dear Comtesse, not I, I assure you—it is quite enough to take care of one's-self; I never interfere with other people's affairs—nothing would induce me to undertake any body's education."
"I believe you are very wise," said Lady Boileau; "the laissez faire and the laissez aller is the best rule."
"I do not quite agree with you in that," said Lady Tilney; "how could we have a pleasant or a distinguished society if that system was allowed to prevail? how could we—"
"La! what sinifies dat?" said the Comtesse Leinsengen, as she arranged her bérin at the glass; "Vos milliners ne valent rien—I have just sent to Paris, and then I shall have a coiffure that will not be so hideous."
"Did you observe the Duchesse D'Hermanton's last dress?" asked Lady Baskerville; "she did think it was perfection; one feather on the top of another, flower upon flower, flounce upon flounce, jewel upon jewel, till she was one mass of moving millinery—I never saw such a figure since the days of Lady Aveling's ambassadress' glory."