Some talk of the burning
cheek and the flashing eye of passion; but a wise man would not,
perhaps, despair of the heroine who, when he approaches her, treats him
almost with scorn, and trembles while she affects to disregard him.
Lady Aphrodite has returned home: she hurries to her apartment, she
falls in a sweet reverie, her head leans upon her hand. Her soubrette, a
pretty and chattering Swiss, whose republican virtue had been corrupted
by Paris, as Rome by Corinth, endeavours to divert Mer lady's ennui: she
excruciates her beautiful mistress with tattle about the admiration of
Lord B------and the sighs of Sir Harry. Her Ladyship reprimands her for
her levity, and the soubrette, grown sullen, revenges herself for her
mistress's reproof by converting the sleepy process of brushing into
lively torture.
The Duke of St. James called upon Lady Aphrodite Grafton the next
day, and at an hour when he trusted to find her alone. He was not
disappointed. More than once the silver-tongued pendule sounded during
that somewhat protracted but most agreeable visit. He was, indeed,
greatly interested by her, but he was an habitual gallant, and always
began by feigning more than he felt.
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