“You strange man,” said Mrs. Petito, advancing graceful in shawl drapery; but she stopped short. “My Lord Colambre and Count O’Halloran, as I hope to be saved!”
“I did not know Mrs. Petito was an acquaintance of yours, gentlemen,” said Mr. Reynolds, smiling shrewdly.
Count O’Halloran was too polite to deny his acquaintance with a lady who challenged it by thus naming him; but he had not the slightest recollection of her, though it seems he had met her on the stairs when he visited Lady Dashfort at Killpatricks-town. Lord Colambre was “indeed undeniably an old acquaintance:” and as soon as she had recovered from her first natural start and vulgar exclamation, she with very easy familiarity hoped “my Lady Clonbrony, and my Lord, and Miss Nugent, and all her friends in the family, were well;” and said, “she did not know whether she was to congratulate his lordship or not upon Miss Broadhurst, my Lady Berryl’s marriage, but she should soon have to hope for his lordship’s congratulations for another marriage in her present family—Lady Isabel to Colonel Heathcock, who was come in for a large portion, and they are buying the wedding clothes—sights of clothes—and the di’monds, this day; and Lady Dashfort and my Lady Isabel sent me especially, sir, to you, Mr. Reynolds, and to tell you, sir, before any body else; and to hope the cheese come safe up again at last; and to ask whether the Iceland moss agrees with your chocolate, and is palatable? it’s the most diluent thing upon the universal earth, and the most tonic and fashionable—the Duchess of Torcaster takes it always for breakfast, and Lady St. James too is quite a convert, and I hear the Duke of V*** takes it too.”
“And the devil may take it too, for any thing that I care,” said old Reynolds.
“Oh, my dear, dear sir! you are so refractory a patient.”
“I am no patient at all, ma’am, and have no patience either: I am as well as you are, or my Lady Dashfort either, and hope, God willing, long to continue so.”
Mrs. Petito smiled aside at Lord Colambre, to mark her perception of the man’s strangeness. Then, in a cajoling voice, addressing herself to the old gentleman, “Long, long, I hope, to continue so, if Heaven grants my daily and nightly prayers, and my Lady Dashfort’s also. So, Mr. Reynolds, if the ladies’ prayers are of any avail, you ought to be purely, and I suppose ladies’ prayers have the precedence in efficacy. But it was not of prayers and death-bed affairs I came commissioned to treat—but of weddings my diplomacy was to speak: and to premise my Lady Dashfort would have come herself in her carriage, but is hurried out of her senses, and my Lady Isabel could not in proper modesty; so they sent me as their double, to hope you, my dear Mr. Reynolds, who is one of the family relations, will honour the wedding with your presence.”
“It would be no honour, and they know that as well as I do,” said the intractable Mr. Reynolds. “It will be no advantage, either; but that they do not know as well as I do. Mrs. Petito, to save you and your lady all trouble about me in future, please to let my Lady Dashfort know that I have just received and read the certificate of my son Captain Reynolds’ marriage with Miss St. Omar. I have acknowledged the marriage. Better late than never; and to-morrow morning, God willing, shall set out with this young nobleman for Buxton, where I hope to see, and intend publicly to acknowledge, my grand-daughter—provided she will acknowledge me.”
“Crimini!” exclaimed Mrs. Petito, “what new turns are here? Well, sir, I shall tell my lady of the metamorphoses that have taken place, though by what magic I can’t guess. But, since it seems annoying and inopportune, I shall make my finale, and shall thus leave a verbal P.P.C.—as you are leaving town, it seems, for Buxton so early in the morning. My Lord Colambre, if I see rightly into a millstone, as I hope and believe I do on the present occasion, I have to congratulate your lordship (haven’t I?) upon something like a succession, or a windfall, in this denewment. And I beg you’ll make my humble respects acceptable to the ci-devant Miss Grace Nugent that was; and I won’t derrogate her by any other name in the interregnum, as I am persuaded it will only be a temporary name, scarce worth assuming, except for the honour of the public adoption; and that will, I’m confident, be soon exchanged for a viscount’s title, or I have no sagacity or sympathy. I hope I don’t (pray don’t let me) put you to the blush, my lord.”
Lord Colambre would not have let her, if he could have helped it.