"Indeed," asked the lady in a disappointed tone. "I thought he would surely be here."
"Zooks," drawled a handsome gentleman who, gorgeously attired and carrying himself with mannered dignity, had joined the first-mentioned couple in their corner. "Moore not here? What a bore! I counted on hearing him sing some of his ballads to-night. I am told he has a new one. Some deliciously impossible lyrical statement concerning the steadfastness of the proper kind of love in the face of misfortune and wrinkles. Quite improbable, but delightfully sentimental and imaginative."
"Put not your faith in princes, Brummell," quoted Mr. Sheridan, knowingly, "that your days may be longer in the land."
"A combination of scriptural sayings worthy of their most unrespected quoter," laughed Mrs. FitzHerbert. "Do you think a prince's passion could face wrinkles?"
"In whose face? His own or some one else's?"
"Some one else's face, of course, Mr. Sheridan."
"I spoke of the proper kind of love, dear madame, not the improper," observed Brummell, languidly.
"And a prince's love?"
"For his princess impossible, for any other woman improper," said Sheridan, looking away lest his shot strike home.
"And why has Sir Percival cut Mr. Moore?" demanded Mrs. FitzHerbert, giving Sheridan a reproving tap with her fan.