“I trust, sir,” says she, “that I know what is decent better than to go pay my respects to her ladyship in a camlet gown with muslin tuckers. Though she be in misfortune, I han’t no desire to insult over her,” and with that I must needs be content.
We were not long before we come to the inn, and the landlord welcomed us at the door, and carried us up-stairs with extraordinary great respect. The chamber whereto he brought us was of a moderate size, but cheerful enough in its aspect, and furnished very decently. Upon the settle, which was drawn up close beside the fire, lay my friend the viscount, so wasted and thin as it made my heart bleed to behold him, being worn, indeed, into the very ghost and shadow of a man. Sitting with her back towards the door was a lady in a gown of some black stuff and a high cornette cap, and she turning round, I saw it to be Madam Heliodora. At my first sight of her, her hair seemed to me to be powdered, and I wondered much that she should use so great ceremony thus early in the day; but coming into the light I saw that ’twas all turned grey, and her face was very thin. Yet in spite of this, and of the meanness of her attire, she still seemed one of the most beautiful women imaginable, and moved as queenly in that poor chamber as ever in my lord her father’s palace at St Thomas.
“ ’Tis the ’Squire and Madam Carlyon, madam, come to wait upon your ladyship,” says the landlord that had carried us up hither, and departed, and Madam Heliodora came forward to us.
“I take this very kind in you, sir,” says she, “to remember our ancient friendship so punctually. Pray do me the honour to present me to your lady, though indeed I may almost pretend to know her already from your discourse. I have long desired the felicity of meeting with you, madam.”
My poor Dorothy was so much took aback by Madam Heliodora’s noble air and her graciousness that she could do little but curtsey in reply; but my lady kissed her on the cheek, and took her hand for to lead her to a seat.
“Won’t you present me also to Madam Carlyon, Edward, my friend?” says the viscount from his couch. “Though I can’t rise to salute her as I should, yet I would fain make shift to kiss her hand, if she’ll permit me that honour.”
“I am rejoiced to find your lordship so much recovered,” said I, when he had kissed my wife’s hand with prodigious gallantry, and she and Madam Heliodora were withdrawn a little to talk apart.
“I an’t like ever to be able for much again,” says he. “I fear I am a poor useless wreck, and yet, if there should be any fighting for the Faith, as men say there shall be, I trust I shall be permitted to take a part in’t. But how goes the world with you, Edward? Better than when we bid each other farewell at Surat, I trust?”
“I am the happiest man in the world, sir,” says I.
“Why, then, there’s two of us,” says he, “for so am I.”