There were Lord and Lady
Bloomerly, who were the best friends on earth: my Lord a sportsman, but
soft withal, his talk the Jockey Club, filtered through White's; my Lady
a little blue, and very beautiful. Their daughter, Lady Charlotte, rose
by her mother's side like a tall bud by a full-blown flower. There were
the Viscountess Blaze, a peeress in her own right, and her daughter,
Miss Blaze Dash-away, who, besides the glory of the future coronet,
moved in all the confidence of independent thousands. There was the
Marquess of Macaroni, who was at the same time a general, an ambassador,
and a dandy; and who, if he had liked, could have worn twelve orders;
but this day, being modest, only wore six. There, too, was the
Marchioness, with a stomacher stiff with brilliants extracted from the
snuff-boxes presented to her husband at a Congress.
There were Lord Sunium, who was not only a peer but a poet; and his
lady, a Greek, who looked just finished by Phidias. There, too, was
Pococurante, the epicurean and triple millionaire, who in a political
country dared to despise politics, in the most aristocratic of kingdoms
had refused nobility, and in a land which showers all its honours upon
its cultivators invested his whole fortune in the funds.
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