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Well, they can be no good to me, and I trust you may get them. When will you go? The sooner the better, you say? We are women of the world, Maria. We only call names when we are in a passion. We don't want each other's company; and we part on good terms. Shall we go to my Lady Yarmouth's? 'Tis her night.
Apparently his foible was a fondness for cats; one of them, a superb brindled Persian cat, is a great beauty, and seems a particular favourite. I think we would have got on well together if he could have spoken English, or I French or Latin; but hélas! I once saw at Lord Yarmouth's house a Persian cat, but not quite so fine as that of the Bishop.
Is he not so, my Lord Bishop?" "That, that he is!" cried his lordship, clasping his ruffled hands, and turning his fine eyes up to the sky, "the best of princes and of men." "That is Master Louis, my Lady Yarmouth's favourite nephew," says Lambert, pointing to a young gentleman who stood with a crowd round him; and presently the stout Duke of Cumberland came up to our little group.
She obtained permission to take Mr. Morris to the Countess of Yarmouth's assembly, and played cards with him and so everybody was pleased. Thus the first eight-and-forty hours after Mr. Warrington's departure passed pretty cheerily at Tunbridge Wells, and Friday arrived, when the sermon was to be delivered which we have seen Mr. Sampson preparing.
"And so you live at White's, and with the great folks; and you fare sumptuously every day, and you pay your court at St. James's, and make one at my Lady Yarmouth's routs, and at all the card-parties in the Court end of the town?" asks the Colonel. "My dear Colonel, I do what other folks do," says Harry, with rather a high manner. "Other folks are richer folks than some folks, my dear lad."
There is nothing like a change of scene after one of those little nervous attacks you have had, and cards drive away unpleasant thoughts better than any doctor." Lady Maria agreed to go to Lady Yarmouth's cards, and was dressed and ready first, awaiting her aunt in the drawing-room. Madame Bernstein, as she came down, remarked Maria's door was left open.
"His Britannic majesty's ship of the line, Yarmouth, Captain Vincent. Who are you? Answer, or I will fire!" The flying boom of the Randolph was just pointing past the Yarmouth's quarter, and the two ships were abreast each other; now, if ever, was the time for action.
But the English captain was a seaman, every inch of him, and his ship could not have been better handled; divining his bold little antagonist's purpose, the Yarmouth's helm was put up at once, and in the smoke she fell off and came before the wind almost as rapidly as did the Randolph, her promptness frustrating the endeavor, as Seymour was only able to make an ineffectual effort to rake her, as she flew round on her heels.
Warrington?" she asked. "Your ladyship, then, knows?" asked the chaplain. "Have I not been in mortal anxiety ever since his servant brought the dreadful news last night?" asked my lady. "We had it as we came from the opera from my Lady Yarmouth's box my lord, my Lady Castlewood, and I." "His lordship, then, did know?" continued Sampson.
The awful disparity between their sizes was now painfully apparent. "Ship ahoy! Ahoy the frigate!" came down a second time in long hollow tones through the trumpet from the officer balancing himself on the Yarmouth's rail by holding on to a back-stay. "Why don't you answer?" "Ahoy the ship!" replied Seymour at last through his own trumpet. "What ship is that?"
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