Dow. I'll warrant she is making Sir Charles see
to his laurels, and young Stavordale is struck dumb."

I looked up quickly and beheld Dolly surrounded by a circle of admirers.

"Mark the shot strike!" Lady Di continued, between the deals; "that time
Chartersea went down. I fancy he is bowled over rather often," she said
slyly. "What a brute it is. And they say that that little woman she has
for a father imagines a union with the duke will redound to his glory."

"They say," remarked Mrs. Meynel, sitting next me, "that the duke has
thumbscrews of some kind on Mr. Manners."

"Miss Manners is able to take care of herself," said Topham.

"'On dit', that she has already refused as many dukes as did her Grace of
Argyle," said Mrs. Meynel.

I had lost track of the cards, and knew I was losing prodigiously. But
my eyes went back again and again to the group by the doorway, where
Dolly was holding court and dispensing justice, and perchance injustice.
The circle increased. Ribands, generals whose chests were covered with
medals of valour, French noblemen, and foreign ambassadors stopped for a
word with the Beauty and passed on their way, some smiling, some
reflecting, to make room for others. I overheard from the neighbouring
tables a spiteful protest that a young upstart from the colonies should
turn Lady Tankerville's drum into a levee. My ears tingled as I
listened. But not a feathered parrot in the carping lot of them could
deny that Miss Manners had beauty and wit enough to keep them all at bay.
Hers was not an English beauty: every line of her face and pose of her
body proclaimed her of that noble type of Maryland women, distinctly
American, over which many Englishmen before and since have lost their
heads and hearts.

"Egad!" exclaimed Mr. Storer, who was looking on; "she's already
defeated some of the Treasury Bench, and bless me if she isn't rating
North himself."

Half the heads in the room were turned toward Miss Manners, who was
exchanging jokes with the Prime Minister of Great Britain. I saw a
corpulent man, ludicrously like the King's pictures, with bulging gray
eyes that seemed to take in nothing. And this was North, upon whose
conduct with the King depended the fate of our America. Good-natured
he was, and his laziness was painfully apparent. He had the reputation
of going to sleep standing, like a horse.

"But the Beauty contrives to keep him awake," said Storer.

"If you stay among us, Mr. Carvel," s