“What do you think of the matter, my dear Lady Binks?” said Lady Penelope.
“Madam?” said Lady Binks, starting from a reverie, and answering as one who either had not heard, or did not understand the question.
“I mean, what think you of what is going on yonder?”
Lady Binks turned her glass in the direction of Lady Penelope's glance, fixed the widow and the Doctor with one bold fashionable stare, and then dropping her hand slowly, said with indifference, “I really see nothing there worth thinking about.”
“I dare say it is a fine thing to be married,” said Lady Penelope; “one's thoughts, I suppose, are so much engrossed with one's own perfect happiness, that they have neither time nor inclination to laugh like other folks. Miss Rachel Bonnyrigg would have laughed till her eyes ran over, had she seen what Lady Binks cares so little about—I dare say it must be an all-sufficient happiness to be married.”
“He would be a happy man that could convince your ladyship of that in good earnest,” said Mr. Winterblossom.
“Oh, who knows—the whim may strike me,” replied the lady; “but no—no—no;—and that is three times.”
“Say it sixteen times more,” said the gallant president, “and let nineteen nay-says be a grant.”
“If I should say a thousand Noes, there exists not the alchymy in living man that could extract one Yes out of the whole mass,” said her ladyship. “Blessed be the memory of Queen Bess!—She set us all an example to keep power when we have it—What noise is that?”