“No, indeed; nor shall I take the trouble of trying. To set to guessing about it, were as bad as seeing the whole mummery over again.”
“Well,” replied her brother, “you will allow one thing at least—Bottom was well acted—you cannot deny that.”
“Yes,” replied Clara, “that worthy really deserved to wear his ass's head to the end of the chapter—but what of him?”
“Only conceive that he should be the very same person with that handsome Spaniard,” replied Mowbray.
“Then there is one fool fewer than I thought there was,” replied Clara, with the greatest indifference.
Her brother bit his lip.
“Clara,” he said, “I believe you are an excellent good girl, and clever to boot, but pray do not set up for wit and oddity; there is nothing in life so intolerable as pretending to think differently from other people.—That gentleman was the Earl of Etherington.”
This annunciation, though made in what was meant to be an imposing tone, had no impression on Clara.
“I hope he plays the peer better than the Fidalgo,” she replied, carelessly.
“Yes,” answered Mowbray, “he is one of the handsomest men of the time, and decidedly fashionable—you will like him much when you see him in private.”