“Infinitely more beautiful, my Lord. Such a haughty grace tempered with the most seductive languor might well excuse a monarch’s subjection. Ah, Duchess, had you committed any crime with such a King on the throne he had but commanded you to an assignation for punishment. But the days when a woman was truly adored have departed along with the grand manner. Go to Hampton Court,—look upon the beauties pictured there and honour them with a sigh.” He himself sighed and snuffed,—a fine enamel set in brilliants of the divine Frances Jennings adorning his snuff-box. ’Twas whispered— But why revive ancient scandals laid in the dust with their owners? “For my part!” cries the Duchess’s clear ringing voice;— “I desire no monarch’s attentions, and the corpulent German lady is welcome to such as can be spared from his German charmers. All I ask is common justice and civility, and depend on’t Mr. Gay’s new piece shall be printed if I pay the cost of every letter. But was ever such a simplicity as to let ‘The Beggar’s Opera’ proceed unhindered that’s as full of skits upon them as an egg is of meat, while they crush this new piece where there’s nothing to hurt nobody?” “They daren’t touch it!” says Lady Fanny— “’Twould be like when the Queen asked Sir Robert what ’twould cost to close Hyde Park to the public. ‘A trifle, Madam. Only three crowns!’ says he. No, she won’t do that. But what to do next, Kitty? Write another letter?” “Not I. But one, and that a masterpiece, was my motto. No—I have another card hid in my sleeve!” “Lord, what’s that?” The company crowded about her chair. She waved her fan, imperial. “To support the Prince of Wales.” A chorus arose— “Lord, my dear. He’s as bad as his father and mother combined.”—“You don’t speak seriously,” and so forth. “I’ll have Mr. Gay introduce a new song in his favour tomorrow—’twill drive them mad. I’ll see Polly on it this night. Lord, I forgot!” She stopt of a sudden. “What, Duchess?” “Why, she’s not here. I had the prettiest note from her last night when the chair returned without her to notify me that her mamma was took ill at her aunt’s house and she must go to her at once.” “The dutiful girl!” says Sir Temperley.— “I own she’s as pretty as sweet Mistress Nell Gwynne, and a deal more innocent, if a face can be trusted. I wish I were her aunt.” “Aunt? She has not a relative in the world—so Mr. Gay said when I asked him,”—says Lady Fanny. The Duchess, bewildered, felt in the silk bag she carried on her arm. “Since you know better than I, hear her letter.” “_Your Grace_, your humble servant presents her duty and ventures to inform you that my mother is come up to London very ill at my aunt Mrs. Webster’s, and I am in duty compelled to wait upon her. Tomorrow being Sunday I will continue with her and hope to return to the playhouse on Monday. Your bounden and obedient humble servant to command.— “Lavinia Fenton.”