for herself, and she
had not much trouble in doing so. She it was on whom Lord Pembroke had
cast the eye of desire.

These five girls were like five dishes placed before a gourmand, who
enjoys them one after the other. To my fancy the last was always the
best. The third sister's name was Augusta.

Next Sunday I had a large number of guests. There were my daughter and
her friend, Madame Cornelis, and her son. Sophie was kissed and caressed
by the Hanoverians, while I bestowed a hundred kisses on Miss Nancy
Steyne, who was only thirteen, but whose young beauty worked sad havoc
with my senses. My affection was supposed to be fatherly in its
character, but, alas I it was of a much more fleshly kind. This Miss
Nancy, who seemed to me almost divine, was the daughter of a rich
merchant. I said that I wanted to make her father's acquaintance, and she
replied that her father proposed coming to call on me that very day. I
was delighted to hear of the coincidence, and gave order that he should
be shewn in as soon as he came.

The poor marquis was the only sad figure in the company. He was young and
well-made, but thin and repulsively ugly. He thanked me for my kindness,
saying that I had done a wise thing, as he felt sure the time would come
when he would repay me a hundredfold.

I had given my daughter six guineas to buy a pelisse, and she took me to
my bedroom to shew it me. Her mother followed her to congratulate me on
my seraglio.

At dinner gaiety reigned supreme. I sat between my daughter and Miss
Nancy Steyne, and felt happy. Mr. Steyne came in as we were at the
oysters. He kissed his daughter with that tender affection which is more
characteristic, I think, of English parents than those of any other
nation.

Mr. Steyne had dined, but he nevertheless ate a hundred scolloped
oysters, in the preparation of which my cook was wonderfully expert; he
also honoured the champagne with equal attention.

We spent three hours at the table and then proceeded to the third floor,
where Sophie accompanied her mother's singing on the piano, and young
Cornelis displayed his flute-playing talents. Mr. Steyne swore that he
had never been present at such a pleasant party in his life, adding that
pleasure was forbidden fruit in England on Sundays and holidays. This
convinced me that Steyne was an intelligent man, though his French was
execrable. He left at seven, after giving a beautiful ring to my
daughter, whom he escorted back to sc