“‘I know I intrude,’ says her Royal Highness very gracious, ‘For whenever a gentleman is in talk with Lady Fanny he has the air of desiring to murder any third person who dares approach. Calm yourself however, my Lord, I design but a moment’s stay.’ “‘I beseech it may be all night, Madam,’ says I, ‘my Lord Baltimore is dull. He sympathizes with poor Mr. Rich, the manager that can’t find a player-woman for Gay’s new piece, and such is his sensibility he can talk of nothing else. Mr. Rich is distracted.’ “‘Why, there are plenty and to spare of such wenches!’ says the Princess. “‘Indeed yes, Madam, but they’re all so confounded ugly. Excepting only Mrs. Oldfield who is so engaged with her General at present that she won’t look at Mr. Rich, there is not one handsomer than the Duchess of Bolton.’ “So saying he shot a look at that lady across the room and just then the Duke entered, very magnificent in purple velvet,—vastly grave and fine, and goes up to his wife, bowing low. “‘Madam, how does your Grace? I trust I see you pure well?’ “The invariable ceremony! She rose and curtseyed, “‘I thank your Grace. I do extreme well. I hope I see you the same?’ “He bowed and slid off to us. The strangest wedlock sure! Polite, but frosty as December. ’Tis thus and only thus they meet. I wonder would the American Prince and myself come to this favour after a year of wedlock? O Kitty, is not the risk too high for any woman? But supposing a woman loved him?—Supposing there was an emptiness in her heart every time he turned his back. Supposing she hated every woman under fifty that came near him! Kitty, I don’t say ’tis myself I speak of, but if it were—what would you say?