“It would have been a disappointment to Maria,” pursued Lady Godolphin. “Would it not, my dear?”
“Yes,” she answered, her face flushing.
“And so very dull for Charlotte Pain. I expressly told her when I invited her that Maria Hastings would be of the party.”
“Charlotte Pain!” echoed Bessy Godolphin, in her quick way; “is she going with you? What in the world is that for?”
“I invited her, I say,” said Lady Godolphin, with a hard look on her bloom-tinted face: a look that it always wore when her wishes were questioned, her actions reflected on. None brooked interference less than Lady Godolphin.
Sir George bent his head slightly towards his wife. “My dear, I considered that Charlotte Pain invited herself. She fished pretty strongly for the invitation, and you fell into the snare.”
“Snare! It is an honour and a pleasure that she should come with us. What do you mean, Sir George?”
“An honour, if you like to call it so; I am sure it will be a pleasure,” replied Sir George. “A most attractive young woman is Charlotte Pain: though she did angle for the invitation. George, take care how you play your cards.”
“What cards, sir?”
“Look at that graceless George! at his conscious vanity!” exclaimed Sir George to the table generally. “He knows who it is that makes the attraction here to Charlotte Pain. Wear her if you can win her, my boy.”