Some insupportable
coxcomb was boasting a marvellous run with the hounds nigh across
Hertfordshire, and Miss Manners brought him up with a round turn and a
half hitch by relating one of your exploits, Richard Carvel. And take my
word on't she got no small applause. She told how you had followed a
fox over one of your rough provincial counties, which means three of
Hertfordshire, with your arm broken, by Heaven! and how they lifted you
off at the death. And, Mr. Carvel," said my Lord, generously, looking at
my flushed face, "you must give me your hand for that."

So Dorothy in England had thought of me at least. But what booted it if
she were to marry a duke! My thoughts began to whirl over all Comyn had
said of her so that I scarce heard a question Miss Tayloe had put.

"Marry Chartersea! That profligate pig!" Comyn was saying. "She would as
soon marry a chairman or a chimneysweep, I'm thinking. Why, Miss Tayloe,
Sir Charles Grandison himself would scarce suit her!"

"Good lack!" said Betty, "I think Sir Charles would be the very last for
Dorothy."

Volume 3.

CHAPTER XIII. MR. ALLEN SHOWS HIS HAND

So Dorothy's beauty had taken London by storm, even as it had conquered
Annapolis! However, 'twas small consolation to me to hear his Grace of
Chartersea called a pig and a profligate while better men danced her
attendance in Mayfair. Nor, in spite of what his Lordship had said, was
I quite easy on the score of the duke. It was in truth no small honour
to become a duchess. If Mr. Marmaduke had aught to say, there was an
end to hope. She would have her coronet. But in that hour of darkness I
counted upon my lady's spirit.

Dr. Courtenay came to the assembly very late, with a new fashion of
pinchbeck buckles on his pumps and a new manner of taking snuff. (I
caught Fotheringay practising this by the stairs shortly after.) Always
an important man, the doctor's prominence had been increased that day
by the letter he had received. He was too thorough a courtier to profess
any grief over Miss Manners's match, and went about avowing that he had
always predicted a duke for Miss Dorothy. And he drew a deal of pleasure
from the curiosity of those who begged but one look at the letter.
Show it, indeed! For no consideration. A private communication from
one gentleman to another must be respected. Will Fotheringay swore the
doctor was a sly dog, and had his own reasons for keeping it to himself.

The doctor paid his