No sooner had this
incident taken place than did Mrs. Dallington Vere hurry to London, and
soon evinced a most laudable determination to console herself for her
husband's political disabilities. Mrs. Dallington Vere went to Court;
and Mrs. Dallington Vere gave suppers after the opera, and concerts
which, in number and brilliancy, were only equalled by her balls. The
dandies patronised her, and selected her for their Muse. The Duke of
Shropshire betted on her always at ecarte; and, to crown the whole
affair, she made Mr. Dallington Vere lay claim to a dormant peerage. The
women were all pique, the men all patronage. A Protestant minister
was alarmed; and Lord Squib supposed that Mrs. Dallington must be the
Scarlet Lady of whom they had heard so often.
Season after season she kept up the ball; and although, of course, she
no longer made an equal sensation, she was not less brilliant, nor
her position less eminent. She had got into the best set, and was more
quiet, like a patriot in place. Never was there a gayer lady than Mrs.
Dallington Vere, but never a more prudent one. Her virtue was only
equalled by her discretion; but, as the odds were equal, Lord Squib
betted on the last.
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