“I know, sir,” said Lady Frances: “so, Caroline, you won’t see the likeness. Very well; if I can’t get a compliment, I must be off. When you draw a caricature, I won’t praise it. Here! Mr. Temple, one look, since you are dying for it.”
“One look will not satisfy me,” cried Mr. Temple, seizing the paper: “your ladyship must leave the drawing with us till to-morrow.”
“Us—must. Given at our court of St. James’s. Lord Oldborough’s own imperative style.”
“Imperative! no; humbly I beseech your ladyship, thus humbly,” cried Mr. Temple, kneeling in jest, but keeping in earnest fast hold of the paper.
“But why—why? Are you acquainted with Lady Angelica? I did not know you knew her.”
“It is excellent!—It is admirable!—I cannot let it go. This hand that seized it long shall hold the prize.”
“The man’s mad! But don’t think I’ll give it to you—I would not give it to my mother: but I’ll lend it to you, if you’ll tell me honestly why you want it.”
“Honestly—I want to show it to a particular friend, who will be delighted with it.”
“Tell me who, this minute, or you shall not have it.”
“Mrs. Crabstock, my lady, bids me say, the duchess—”