Walpole and Townshend, and he liked the éclat of its happening at his daughter's house. No one in his secret soul more despised the small vanities and successes of society, while he, also, well knew the advantage to which they might be turned; but he had to-night one deeper and dearer source of gratification—it was seeing his daughter look so well. Lady Marchmont had superintended her toilette, and it was the very triumph of exquisite taste; every thing about it seemed as fragile and delicate as herself. The robe was the palest pink taffety, trimmed with the finest lace, and a magnificent set of emeralds served to contrast her soft fair hair. The excitement of the evening lighted up her eyes, and warmed her cheek with a faint but lovely colour—
"The crimson touched with pale."
The royal party had just departed; Queen Caroline having said all those flattering things which come with such a grace from royalty, and which no one knew better how to apply than she did; and the circle, sufficiently satisfied
