Are
you sure you did not get your tongue stolen by de way?"
"I thought I had seen an old friend in that lady, madam," stammered
Hartley, "but it seems I am mistaken."
"The good people do tell me that you are one Doctors Hartley, sir.
Now, my friend and I do not know Doctors Hartley at all."
"I have not the presumption to pretend to your acquaintance, madam,
but him"--
Here Menie repeated the sign in such a manner, that though it was only
momentary, Hartley could not misunderstand its purpose; he therefore
changed the end of his sentence, and added, "But I have only to make my
bow, and ask pardon for my mistake."
He retired back accordingly among the company, unable to quit the room,
and enquiring at those whom he considered as the best newsmongers for
such information as--"Who is that stately-looking woman, Mr. Butler?"
"Oh, the Queen of Sheba, to be sure."
"And who is that pretty girl, who sits beside her?"
"Or rather behind her," answered Butler, a military chaplain; "faith, I
cannot say--Pretty did you call her?" turning his opera-glass that
way--"Yes, faith, she is pretty--very pretty--Gad, she shoots her glances
as smartly from behind the old pile yonder, as Teucer from behind Ajax
Telamon's shield."
"But who is she, can you tell me?"
"Some fair-skinned speculation of old Montreville's, I suppose, that she
has got either to toady herself, or take in some of her black friends
with.
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