“I am by no means sure of that, my dear madam. I can understand how those who have an opportunity of daily or frequent intercourse with Miss Elliott should be content to think so; but that she should withdraw herself altogether from society, should not be permitted. What charming parties, I remember, we used to enjoy.”
“Mr Proudfute,” said Graeme, gravely, “look at Mrs Snow’s face. You are conveying to her the idea that, at one time, I was quite given up to the pursuit of pleasure, and she is shocked, and no wonder. Now, my own impression is, that I was never very fond of going into society, as you call it. I certainly never met you more than two or three times—at large parties, I mean.”
Mr Proudfute bowed low.
“Well, that shows how profound was the impression which your society made on me, for on looking back I uniformly associate you with all the pleasant assemblies of the season. You went with us to Beloeil, did you not?”
Graeme shook her head.
“Well, no wonder I forget, it is so long ago, now. You were at Mrs Roxbury’s great affair, were you not? It happened not long before Mr Elphinstone’s death. Yes, I remember you were there.”
“Yes, I remember you were kind enough to point out to me the beauties of that wonderful picture, in the little room up-stairs,” said Graeme, smiling.
“Yes, you were ill, or slightly unwell, I should say, for you recovered immediately. You were there, Mr Green, I remember. It was a great affair, given in honour of Miss Elphinstone and your friend Ruthven. By-the-by, Miss Elliott, they lay themselves open to censure, as well as you. They rarely go out now, I hear.”
“I am to be censured in good company, it seems,” said Graeme, laughing.
“I suppose you see them often,” continued he. “You used to be quite intimate with my pretty cousin—I call her cousin, though we are only distantly connected. She is a very nice little woman.”