“Yes, when he saw Lady Davenant thought me worth speaking to. But, after all, it was quite natural that he should not know well what to say to me. I am only a young lady. I acquit him of all peculiar rudeness to me, for I am sure Mr. Churchill really could not talk for only one insignificant hearer, could not bring out his good things, unless he felt secure of possessing the attention of the whole dinner-table, so I quite forgive him.”
“After this curse of forgiveness, my dear Helen, I will wish you a good night,” said Lady Cecilia, laughing; and she retired with a fear that there would not be jealousy enough between the gentlemen, or that Helen would not know how to play them one against another.
There is a pleasure in seeing a large party disperse; in staying behind when others go:—there is advantage as well as pleasure, which is felt by the timid, because they do not leave their characters behind them; and rejoiced in by the satirical, because the characters of the departed and departing are left behind, fair game for them. Of this advantage no one could be more sensible, no one availed himself of it with more promptitude and skill, than Mr. Churchill: for well he knew that though wit may fail, humour may not take—though even flattery may pall upon the sense, scandal, satire, and sarcasm, are resources never failing for the lowest capacities, and sometimes for the highest.
This morning, in the library at Clarendon Park, he looked out of the window at the departing guests, and, as each drove off, he gave to each his coup de patte. To Helen, to whom it was new, it was wonderful to see how each, even of those next in turn to go, enjoyed the demolition of those who were just gone; how, blind to fate, they laughed, applauded, and licked the hand just raised to strike themselves. Of the first who went—“Most respectable people,” said Lady Cecilia; “a bonne mère de famille.”
“Most respectable people!” repeated Horace—“most respectable people, old coach and all.” And then, as another party drove off—“No fear of any thing truly respectable here.”
“Now, Horace, how can you say so?—she is so amiable and so clever.”
“So clever? only, perhaps, a thought too fond of English liberty and French dress. Poissarde bien coiffée.”
“Poissarde! of one of the best born, best bred women in England!” cried Lady Cecilia; “bien coiffée, I allow.”
“Lady Cecilia is si coiffée de sa belle amie, that I see I must not say a word against her, till—the fashion changes. But, hark! I hear a voice I never wish to hear.”
“Yet nobody is better worth hearing——”