The company that assembled in Mrs. Schwellenberg’s apartments occupied their leisure hours with small-talk, mild flirtations, and trifling amusements, varied by occasional misunderstandings. The first Keeper of the Robes domineered over them all, and her rule was a savage tyranny, tempered by ill-health. Her infirmities sometimes detained her in London for weeks together. During her absence, her junior presided at the dinner-table, and made tea for the equerries. Great was the joy whenever the old lady went up to town to consult her physician. Then Mr. Turbulent,[80] more gay and flighty than beseemed a married clergyman,[81] would practise on the patent prudery of Fanny’s character by broaching strange theories of morality, and breaking out in wild rhapsodies of half-amatory admiration. Then the colonels-in-waiting, relieved from the watchful eyes of Cerbera, exerted themselves for the entertainment of the fair tea-maker. They were not always successful. Miss Burney cared but little for Colonel Goldsworthy’s rough humour, and still less for the vocal performances of a certain Colonel Manners, who, in love with his own voice, and with what he called the songs that he heard at church, insisted on regaling his friends with snatches from Tate and Brady, married to the immortal notes of the National Anthem. Fanny once or twice caused some unpleasantness by endeavouring to escape from the duty of receiving the equerries in the evening. As soon as the Schwellenberg returned, she was again thrown into the background. Destitute of every attraction, yet constantly demanding notice, the principal could not bear to see the least attention bestowed on anyone else. ‘Apparently,’ says the Diary, ‘she never wishes to hear my voice but when we are _tête-à-tête_, and then never is in good-humour when it is at rest.’ When in company, she would sometimes talk about a pair of tame frogs which she kept, and fall into an ecstasy while describing ‘their ladder, their table, and their amiable ways of snapping live flies.’ ‘And I can make them croak when I will,’ she would say, ‘when I only go so to my snuff-box—knock, knock, knock—they croak all what I please.’ Rather to our surprise, we hear of this lady being once engaged in reading: the author was Josephus, ‘which is the only book in favour at present, and serves for all occasions, and is quoted to solve all difficulties.’ But the sole effectual mode of amusing her, after the gentlemen had retired, was to join her in a game at cards. Fanny disliked cards, and knew little of trumps or honours; but to avert threatened attacks of spasms, she was at length fain to waive her objections, and learn piquet. When in the least crossed, Mrs. Schwellenberg put no restraint on her temper, language, or demeanour. If her servants kept her waiting for her coach, she would talk of having them transported; if Miss Burney spoke of taking tea with Mrs. Delany, she would leave her unhelped at the dinner-table.