nd, her ladyship was ushered into
the morning-room, where she found Lady Armine and Katherine.

'My dear lady, how do you do? And my sweet miss! Oh! your eyes are so
bright, that it quite makes me young to look upon them! I quite love
you, that I do. Your grandfather and my poor son were bosom friends.
And, my dear lady, where have you been all this time? Here have I been
giving parties every night, and all for you; all for my Bath friends;
telling everybody about you; talking of nothing else; everybody longing
to see you; and you have never been near me. My dinner-parties are over;
I shall not give any more dinners until June. But I have three evenings
yet; to-night, you must come to me to-night, and Thursday, and Saturday;
you must come on all three nights. Oh! why did you not call upon me?
I should have asked you to dinner. I would have asked you to meet Lord
Colonnade and Lady Ionia! They would have just suited you; they would
have tasted you! But I tell you what I will do; I will come and dine
with you some day. Now, when will you have me? Let me see, when am I.
free?' So saying, her ladyship opened a little red book, which was her
inseparable companion in London. 'All this week I am ticketed; Monday,
the Derricourts, dull, but then he is a duke. Tuesday I dine with
Bonmot; we have made it up; he gives me a dinner. Wednesday, Wednesday,
where is Wednesday? General Faneville, my own party. Thursday, the
Maxburys, bad dinner, but good company. Friday, Waring Cutts, a famous
house for eating; but that is not in my way; however, I must go, for
he sends me pines. And Saturday, I dine off a rabbit, by myself, at one
o'clock, to go and see my dear darling Lady St. Julians at Richmond. So
it cannot be this or next week. I will send you a note; I will tell you
to-night. And now I must go, for it is five minutes to two, I am always
at home from two till six; I receive my friends; you may come every
day, and you must come to see my new squirrel; my darling, funny little
grandson gave it me. And, my dear miss, where is that wicked Lady
Grandison? Do you ever see her, or are you enemies? She has got the
estate, has not she? She never calls upon me. Tell her she is one of my
greatest favourites. Oh! why does not she come? I should have asked her
to dinner; and now all my dinners are over till June. Tell me where she
lives, and I will call upon her to-morrow.'

So saying, and bidding them all farewell very cordially, her ladyship