The duke most gladly availed himself of her permission to imprint on the fair hand she extended more than one kiss. "Nay, you are too bold!" she added, withdrawing her hand suddenly, and frowning for a moment, while she expressed a pretty anger in the eloquent language of the fan, by quickly opening and shutting the sticks so as to produce a somewhat sharp noise. "But, my lord duke, you interrupt the trial. Silence in the court! The Lady Nithsdale had not made an end, when I, to my shame be it spoken, somewhat rudely interrupted her. Proceed, fair countess." "I visited my children for a while, and then I practised to my new spinet some of the songs your grace showed me last night; for my lord loves sweet sounds so well, that he will sometimes listen to such poor music as I can make." "That is well. But now, fair countess, how did you pass your time while I, having duly attended both to my understanding and my person, now took heed to my health, by galloping in the clear fresh air, many and many a mile, over sweet heath and thymy downs?" "Why, after seeing my maidens at their embroidery, I wrote and despatched a letter to my dear sister Lucy at Bruges." "Useless! still vain and useless! If your letter had been addressed to some court lady, who might have informed you in return of what colour was Mrs. Masham's new hood, and whether the queen had yet adopted the fashion of my last commode, and whether her grace of Marlborough had yet left off the philomot-coloured petticoat of which we are all so weary,--well! But what news can your devout sister send you from her dull convent?" "Nay, your grace is jesting now! Every word that comes from Bruges, and tells me of the dear, dear friends of my childhood, is precious to me." "I can well believe it," replied the duchess with a winning frankness; "for dearly do I love a letter from old Eupheme Stuart, the sister of our minister at Ethy; and I would often rather sit and con over her prosy epistle, than dress myself for a court-ball. But you know, Lady Nithsdale, that all other considerations must give way before our loyalty to our monarch." "Most true, your grace," answered the Lady Nithsdale, in a tone of voice which showed she thought of the "king over the water," while the volatile duchess watched her with a laughing and malicious countenance. "Oh, my dearest countess!" she exclaimed, "do you know you have patched yourself in the most factious manner! For Heaven's sake, remove that shocking patch on the wrong side of your face! it might lead to much mischief. It is an old saying, that extremes meet; and they say that some of the discomfited Whigs are even now plotting with the Jacobites. This is a season when it behoves every one to be most discreet in such tokens of their sentiments, and your imprudent patching might bring suspicion on your good lord." "Does your grace speak of the mole on my right temple?"