“Maybe!” repeated Lady Angelica in a voice of vexation. “Well, I know I have a hundred faults; but I never before heard any body, friend or enemy, deny that I am an uncommon character. Now, Mrs. Hungerford, do you know any one of a more uncommon character?”
“Yes,” said Mrs. Hungerford, smiling, “I know the thing that’s most uncommon,
‘I know a reasonable woman,
Handsome and witty, yet a friend.’”
“Oh! your friend, Miss Caroline Percy, I suppose. Well! though she is so great a favourite of yours, I must say that, to my fancy, she is as little of an uncommon character as any girl I ever saw—uncommon beauty, I acknowledge, she has, though not the style of face I like.”
“And an uncommonly good understanding, without one grain of envy, affectation, or vanity,” said Mrs. Hungerford.
“Vanity!—Stay till you see her tried,” said Lady Angelica; “stay till she has gone through one winter’s campaign in London; stay till she has as many admirers as—”
“As you have,” said Mrs. Hungerford, smiling. “She seems to be in a fair way of soon trying that experiment to your satisfaction.”
A considerable pause ensued; during which many conflicting passions appeared in Lady Angelica’s countenance.
“After all, Mrs. Hungerford,” resumed she, “do you think Mr. Barclay is really attached to me?”
“I think he was really attached to you, and strongly: but you have been doing all you can to weaken and destroy his attachment, I fear.”