“If I am any judge of physiognomy,” said the Colonel, “his Lordship’s want of animation does not proceed from want of admiration: and, as to the lady, if she does not look up and smile, she looks down and blushes; and that is quite as encouraging, you know.”
“She is certainly too demurely-looking,” persisted Lady D.
“Her adorer probably prefers,” argued the Colonel, assuming what he intended for a very graceful attitude, “possessing this monopoly of his fair enslaver’s attention, to the danger of her Ladyship’s admiring other Adonises, as might possibly be the case, were she to dispense her glances more freely.”
“Oh,” replied Lady D., with quickness, “in the case of the partner of Lord Fitz-Ullin, there can be no danger of that!”
The Colonel fell back, bit his lip, and said to a gentleman near him, in a loud and conceited tone, drawing up his eyebrows, and looking down at his own legs, “Lady D. thinks, that where Lord Fitz-Ullin appears, no one else has a chance of being looked at!—eh?”
“It is fortunate,” replied the gentleman addressed, who was also an acquaintance of her Ladyship’s, “that all ladies are not of Lady D.’s opinion. In a late very public affair his Lordship was, ’tis said, successfully rivalled by a Captain Montgomery, with whose name the papers have resounded for some time.”
“By the bye,” asked Lady D., “was it not said that Captain Montgomery, or Lord Fitz-Ullin, or somebody, had shot themselves, or something?”
A gentleman, on whose breast appeared the stars and garters of renown, now coming up, said dryly (for he too seemed of Lady D.’s coterie), “Your Ladyship is speaking of Captain Montgomery? His wounds, you perceive, have not been mortal.”
The lady looked her want of comprehension.