hem all he contrived to get
Patty for supper, when I took Betty Tayloe, and we were very merry at
table together. His Lordship proved more than able to take care of
himself, and contrived to send Philip about his business when he pulled
up a chair beside us. He drank a health to Miss Swain, and another to
Miss Tayloe, and was on the point of filling a third glass to the ladies
of Maryland, when he caught himself and brought his hand down on the
table.

"Gad's life!" cried he, "but I think she's from Maryland, too!"

"Who?" demanded the young ladies, in a breath.

But I knew.

"Who!" exclaimed Comyn. "Who but Miss Dorothy Manners! Isn't she from
Maryland?" And marking our astonished nods, he continued: "Why, she
descended upon Mayfair when they were so weary for something to worship,
and they went mad over her in a s'ennight. I give you Miss Manners!"

"And you know her!" exclaimed Patty, her voice quivering with excitement.

"Faith!" said his Lordship, laughing. "For a whole month I was her most
devoted, as were we all at Almack's. I stayed until the last minute for
a word with her,--which I never got, by the way,--and paid near a guinea
a mile for a chaise to Portsmouth as a consequence. Already she has had
her choice from a thousand a year up, and I tell you our English ladies
are green with envy."

I was stunned, you may be sure. And yet, I might have expected it.

"If your Lordship has left your heart in England," said Betty, with a
smile, "I give you warning you must not tell our ladies here of it."

"I care not who knows it, Miss Tayloe," he cried. That fustian,
insincerity, was certainly not one of his faults. "I care not who knows
it. To pass her chariot is to have your heart stolen, and you must needs
run after and beg mercy. But, ladies," he added, his eye twinkling;
"having seen the women of your colony, I marvel no longer at Miss
Manners's beauty."

He set us all a-laughing.

"I fear you were not born a diplomat, sir," says Patty. "You agree that
we are beautiful, yet to hear that one of us is more so is small
consolation."

"We men turn as naturally to Miss Manners as plants to the sun, ma'am,"
he replied impulsively. "Yet none of us dare hope for alliance with so
brilliant and distant an object. I make small doubt those are Mr.
Carvel's sentiments, and still he seems popular enough with the ladies.
How now, sir? How now, Mr. Carvel? You have yet to speak on so tender
a subject."

My eyes m