That lovely face will fail;
Beauty’s sweet—but beauty’s frail—
’Tis sooner past—’tis sooner done,
Than summer’s rain or summer’s sun
Most fleeting when it is most dear,
’Tis gone while we but say ’tis here.”
To which Phemie answered by putting her hand over his mouth, and saying—
“Ah, uncle, it went long ago; no need to remind me of how fast youth and beauty pass away.”
They were rather unique, this uncle and niece, and much sought after in London society accordingly. Every grace of manner, every art and conventionality Mrs. Stondon had acquired so dearly, she put forth now to win her popularity and regard.
Her little affectations were brought out once again—brought out and aired after years. She fenced, she rallied, she retorted, she laughed, she looked grave, according to the rules she had taken so much trouble to learn.