"By all means," adds Isadora.
"Of course," says Myrtilla.
"He has been making himself ridiculous about that actress," continues the chronicler, "and, I have even heard, designs to marry her."
The ladies make a movement to express surprise and indignation but, after a moment's reflection, suppress this somewhat ambiguous exhibition of their feelings.
"He's been at the Raleigh Tavern, making love to her for a month," continues the narrator.
"At the tavern?"
"Yes, in town here."
"Did anyone ever!" says the lady of uncertain age.
"Never! never!" chime in the virtuous little damsels, shaking their heads solemnly.
"He has left his family," the gentleman in the long waistcoat goes on, indignantly, "and they are dying of grief."
"Oh, can it be!"
"Certainly, madam. Why are they not here to-night?"
"Very true."
"Why is Clare Lee, the victim of his insincerity, away, pray tell me! They are not here—they are not coming, madam."
At the same moment, the usher announces the squire, Miss Alethea, and Miss Clare Lee—Master Willie and Kate being too small to be seen, which the squire had warned them of. The squire is as bluff as ever, and makes his salutation to his Excellency with great cordiality—Clare is pale and absent, presenting thus a singular contrast to Henrietta, who enters a moment afterwards, brilliant, imposing, and smiling, like a queen receiving the homage of the nobility around her throne. She sweeps on, leaning on the arm of honest Jack Hamilton, and the party are swallowed in the crowd.
