“Oh! yes, the queen of the Blues—the Blue Devils!”
“Hush!” cried the aide-de-camp, “she is coming in to take leave.”
Then, as the queen of the Blue Devils entered, Mr. Churchill, in the most humbly respectful manner, begged—“My respects—I trust your grace will do me the favour—the justice to remember me to all your party who—do me the honour to bear me in mind—” then, as she left the room, he turned about and laughed.
“Oh! you sad, false man!” cried the lady next in turn to go. “I declare, Mr. Churchill, though I laugh, I am quite afraid to go off before you.”
“Afraid! what could malice or envy itself find to say of your ladyship, intacte as you are?—Intacte!” repeated he, as she drove off, “intacte!—a well chosen epithet, I flatter myself!”
“Yes, intacte—untouched—above the breath of slander,” cried Lady Cecilia.
“I know it: so I say,” replied Churchill: “fidelity that has stood all temptations—to which it has ever been exposed; and her husband is——”
“A near relation of mine,” said Lady Cecilia. “I am not prudish as to scandal in general,” continued she, laughing; “‘a chicken, too, might do me good,’ but then the fox must not prey at home. No one ought to stand by and hear their own relations abused.”
“A thousand pardons! I depended too much on the general maxim—that the nearer the bone the sweeter the slander.”
“Nonsense!” said Lady Cecilia.