"My good friend," said Lord Raynham, "this very piece is not so widely different from the follies of the present day as you may at first sight imagine."
"Perhaps so," replied his friend; "but one need not put on the cap, you know; and then nobody can tell whether it fits or not."
Lord Raynham continued (following the thread of his own fancy, rather than replying to the speaker, as was his wont), "Change the names and the modes of Les Précieuses Ridicules to those of a certain set existing now-a-days, and the principle of vanity and folly is much the same in both; only that, perhaps, on the whole, those of the Hôtel de Rambouillet were more to women's advantage after all; and had they not pushed their system too far, it might have lasted longer than the present dynasty of ton is likely to do. Both are entirely false, both equally far from the real, nay, genuine charm of true good society.
"However, in all the freaks that vanity and fashion play, there have been, and ever will be, some redeeming characters, who mix with all the fanfaronnade of the day, and yet remain uninfected with the epidemic follies. She, for instance," indicating Lady Glenmore with a look; "can any thing be more young and fresh, in mind and heart as well as years, more gay, more natural?"
"Certainly not; and it is quite invigorating to witness her unsophisticated manners, and the genuine entertainment she derives from that which she is come professedly to be diverted by; but then the more's the pity, for it will not last long thus."
"Do not forebode evil," replied Lord Raynham, who was in one of his best couleur de rose humours; "remember there were, and are, among the précieuses ridicules, depuis tout les temps, des Mesdames de Sevigné et de Connel, and I forget all their names, who retained their own innocent individuality, and their natural grace of mind, amid the most decided affectation and the most ridiculous pretensions."
"Yes, but they were exceptions to general rules; and I do not augur so well of that one," still meaning Lady Glenmore, "under the care of that Alcoviste," alluding to Mr. Leslie Winyard.
"Is not that Lady Tilney sitting alone in her box?" asked Lord Raynham: "I must go make my obeisance, as in duty bound, or I may chance to be discarded; and as we have no Molière to overturn our Hôtel de Rambouillet[1], we had better keep its door open to us."
"Agreed," said Mr. Spencer Newcombe; and, bowing to Lady Glenmore, they departed, leaving Mr. Leslie Winyard tenaciously keeping his conspicuous place, with cane at lip, and glove in hand, and eyes that were gathering the observations passed upon him with lynx-like sharpness, while they seemed half closed in listless or consequential apathy. In a few minutes after, the curtain dropped.
"Oh!" said Lady Glenmore, "I am so sorry it is over! I do not know when I have been so amused."