"Oh, no!" said Mrs. Le Maistre, seizing Anne's arm, and holding her
fast; "stay--you may safely--for they're all kissing and taking
leave, and all that, you know; and _my_ lady is talking on about
Mr. Soho, and giving a hundred directions about legs of tables, and
so forth, I warrant--she's always an hour after she's ready before
she gets in--and I'm looking for the _numbrella_. So stay, and
tell me--Mrs. Petito wrote over word it was to be Lady Isabel; and
then a contradiction came--it was turned into the youngest of the
Killpatricks; and now here he's in Miss Nugent's dressing-room to the
last moment. Now, in my opinion, that am not censorious, this does not
look so pretty; but, according to my verdict, he is only making a fool
of Miss Nugent, like the rest; and his lordship seems too like what
you might call a male _cocket_, or a masculine jilt."

"No more like a masculine jilt than yourself, Mrs. Le Maistre," cried
Anne, taking fire. "And my young lady is not a lady to be made a fool
of, I promise you; nor is my lord likely to make a fool of any woman."

"Bless us all! that's no great praise for any young nobleman, Miss
Anne."

"Mrs. Le Maistre! Mrs. Le Maistre! are you above?" cried a footman
from the bottom of the stairs: "my lady's calling for you."

"Very well! Very well!" said sharp Mrs. Le Maistre; "Very well! and
if she is--manners, sir!--Come up for one, can't you, and don't stand
bawling at the bottom of the stairs, as if one had no ears to be
saved. I'm coming as fast as I can--conveniently can."