As if to contradict her own statement she again gave way to her jolly laugh. Kitty, watching her through long eyelashes, sighed. “But what can induce you to think of me, my Lady Flo? Poor little retiring me?” “Pray my dear, do not play the Molly Lafone with me!” Molly Lafone! Such a comparison was too comic! Kitty laughed, and dropped her not very successful mask. “Upon my word, then, I believe it would suit me! But how can it be accomplished? I am not one to push myself forward. My Lord Kilcroney is an Irishman and no courtier, and their Majesties have their own favourites; and indeed to begin with, I doubt whether you will find it so easy to resign.” “Resign, Kitty! Resign? No, dear Kilcroney, I am on the point of being graciously dismissed. It took some management, but I was desperate. Another month of this, I said, and Mr. Stamer will be able to look out for a new wife--which he would do, my dear love, across my very coffin--’twas yesterday sennight then, I made up my mind. I took my best rose-point flounce--by the mercy of heaven it was just returned from the lace-menders, neatly packed in tissue tied with ribbon and a scent bag within, as elegant a parcel as you could wish to see!--and I sought Mrs. Schwellenberg--aye, that same!--and says I, ‘For mercy’s sake, give me a chair. My poor feet will scarce support me?’ At which she looks as sour as a crab, and quoth she: ‘We all have veet, Lady Florence’ (you know her vile accent), ‘but we forget dem in our great honour and brivilege,’ ‘Would God I could forget mine,’ thinks I. But she glances at the parcel in my hand: ‘Take a zeat,’ she says with a roll of her old eye. ‘Ah, my good Frau,’ says I to myself, ‘you may look, but you shan’t clutch yet a bit!’” Lady Florence laughed reminiscently, and Kitty screamed: “Never tell me you gave the old Dutch villain your rose-point flounce!”