"Oh, certainement," replied Lady Tenderden. "Besides, Lord Glenmore is charming; il fera fureur, when he becomes a little more polished, and I shall with infinite pleasure consacré some hours to the instruction of la petite ladi qui seroit à ravir si elle n'avoit pas l'air d'un mouton qui rève."
"Exactly," cried Lady Tilney, "but that is of no consequence."
"Oh, none in the world," responded Lady Tenderden.
"Well then, my dear, that is finally arranged, and I shall now only have to go to the Glenmores to-morrow; but if it be possible, you had better see her to-day, and above all things secure her coming to the Ellersby's party, and Lady Hamlet Vernon's on Sunday, and to our own party on the water on Monday, and to the Opera with you on Tuesday, and so on; in short, taking care only that not one day shall be lost or misapplied."
"Depend upon me; and now then farewell, my dear Lady Tenderden. We meet to-night?"
"Of course. Soyez toujours séduisante comme à present; cette capotte jaune est délicieuse; elle vous va à ravir."
"Flatteuse," rejoined Lady Tilney in a tone of languishing satisfaction, and so they parted mutually pleased. Lady Tenderden, true to her promise, drove straight to Lady Glenmore's, and found her at home. Having expressed her satisfaction at this fortunate circumstance, one too of such rare occurrence, she praised every part of her dress, and inquiring of the Paris fashions, thus proceeded: "And now, my fair queen, you are truly an enviable personage—you, if any body ever had, have really beau jeu, every thing that can make a woman's life truly desirable; a great establishment, magnificent equipages, jewels, and the consideration which attaches to a haut grade in society, a distinguished title, tout enfin qui peut embellir la vie; truly, je vous en félicite, ma belle amie. But you cannot occupy so enviable a position without exciting the most active envy. Now allow me, as a sincere friend, to put you au courant of some things, in respect to the true nature of which you may be deceived. There are a certain set of persons, who will very naturally pay you court, and endeavour to obtain your ear; such as the Duchesse D'Hermanton, the Ladies Proby, and Ladies How, and all that tiresome concourse of old dowagers; but be upon your guard against these, and without giving open offence to any body, be sure that you get rid of them in their very first onset."—Lady Glenmore stared. "Vous ouvrez des grands yeux, ma chère, but you will soon learn the use of these cautions. If the people I have named send their names, as they will certainly do or visit you, be a long time before you return the call; they are an old-fashioned set, who pique themselves on politeness, and veille cour attentions, and feeling affronted by this neglect on your part, they will not so readily or familiarly accost you in public. When they do (for some of them are vulgarly good-natured enough not to take the hint)—when they do accost you, take care to look as if you did not know who they were, and to answer them by monosyllables, if you answer them at all.
"Above all things, never go to their wearisome At Homes; but if they attack you with one of their downright speeches,—sorry not to have had the honour, &c. &c.—hoping you had received a card, &c. &c.—curtsey, and say you were vastly sorry, but you forgot the day, or——no no, say mistook it; yes, mistook it, that is best, because it is a loop-hole that answers for dinner as well as any other party; yes, a mistake of the day is the best recipe I know, for any invitation which you may chance to hesitate about, and perhaps think it possible you might like to accept, and then having done so, repent of it when the time comes—a mistake in the day sets all right. You are au desespoir, and they must believe you, or make themselves appear ridiculous; it may indeed cost you a note or two, but that is the worst of it, and then vous en êtes quitte pour la vie."
Lady Glenmore, who had been so astonished hitherto that she could not reply, now found herself called upon to make some answer, as there was a pause on the part of Lady Tenderden.
"You have told me so many things," she said, "my dear Lady Tenderden" (smiling as she spoke), "that I am afraid I shall never remember the half of them, particularly as they are upon subjects which, to tell you the truth, do not interest me much, if at all. One thing you said, however, that was very kind, and kindness is not lost upon me I can assure you, which was the cordial expression with which you wished me joy of my happiness. I should indeed be ungrateful if I did not feel warmly obliged to you; only you omitted in the catalogue of my felicities, that, without which there would be no felicity for me—I mean my being the wife of Lord Glenmore; who, had he not possessed any of the adventitious advantages you enumerated, I should equally have preferred to the whole world."