“How beautiful!”
“Who is she?”
“She must be a married woman.”
“Ah! it is the new Russian Princess they talk so much about.”
“No—it is Baroness What’s-her-name—you know who I mean—they say the Duke of Devonshire is smitten with her.”
“I say, Melville, who is that pretty creature?”
The young guardsman either did not, or would not reply, though he soon set the matter at rest by advancing toward the fair object of all this crossfire.
“How are you, Mrs. Travers?” said he. “Allow me to pilot you through the crowd.”
“Thank you, Col. Melville—I shall most gladly avail myself of your escort to my carriage.”
“How did you get through the presentation?”