Polly Barlow came up instantly from Mr. B.
I hastened down; tremble, tremble, tremble, went my feet, in spite of all the resolution I had been endeavouring so long to collect together.
Mr. B. presented the countess to me, both of us covered with blushes; but from very different motives, as I imagine.
"The Countess of—-, my dear."
She saluted me, and looked, as I thought, half with envy, half with shame: but one is apt to form people's countenances by what one judges of their hearts.
"O too lovely, too charming rival!" thought I—"Would to heaven I saw less attraction in you!"—For indeed she is a charming lady; yet she could not help calling me Mrs. B., that was some pride to me: every little distinction is a pride to me now—and said, she hoped I would excuse the liberty she had taken: but the character given of me by Mr. B. made her desirous of paying her respects to me.
"O these villainous masquerades," thought I!—"You would never have wanted to see me, but for them, poor naughty Nun, that was!"
Mr. B. presented also the Viscountess to me; I saluted her ladyship; her sister saluted me.
She is a graceful lady; better, as I hope, in heart, but not equal in person to her sister.
"You have a charming boy, I am told, Madam; but no wonder from such a pair!"