“She would only preach me a sermon upon Fareham’s tastes and wishes, and urge me to stay away because he abhors a fashionable comedy,” she told De Malfort, “I shall say I am going to Lady Sarah’s to play basset. Ange hates cards, and will not desire to go with me. She is always happy with the children, who adore her.”
“Faute de mieux.”
“You are so ready to jeer! Yes, I know I am a neglectful mother. But what would you have?”
“I would have you as you are,” he answered, “and only as you are; or for choice a trifle worse than you are; and so much nearer my own level.”
“Oh, I know you! It is the wicked women you admire—like Madame Palmer.”
“Always harping upon Barbara. ‘My mother had a maid called Barbara.’ His Majesty has—a lady of the same melodious name. Well, I have a world of engagements between now and nine o’clock, when the play begins. I shall be at the door to lift you out of your chair. Cover yourself with your richest jewels—or at least those you love best—so that you may blaze like the sun when you cast off the nun’s habit. All the town will be there to admire you.”
“All the town! Why, there is no one in London!”
“Indeed, you mistake. Travelling is so easy nowadays. People tear to and fro between Tunbridge and St James’s as often as they once circulated betwixt London and Chelsea. Were it not for the highwaymen we should be always on the road.”
Angela and her niece were on the terrace in the evening coolness. The atmosphere was less oppressive here by the flowing tide than anywhere else in London; but even here there was a heaviness in the night air, and Henriette sprawled her long thin legs wearily on the cushioned bench where she lay, and vowed that it would be sheer folly for Priscilla to insist upon her going to bed at her usual hour of nine, when everybody knew she could not sleep.
“I scarce closed my eyes last night,” she protested, “and I had half a mind to put on a petticoat and come down to the terrace. I could have come through the yellow drawing-room, where the men usually forget to close the shutters. And I should have brought my theorbo and serenaded you. Should you have taken me for a fairy, chère, if you had heard me singing?”