"And, in compliance," said Mr. Glentworth, "with that opinion, you wish to decline my acquaintance?"
"No such thing, my dear sir," replied her ladyship, in the blandest of tones: "I only refer to your own excellent judgment as to the propriety of making your attentions in public less marked, and your visits less frequent."
"Good morning, Lady Anne," said Mr. Glentworth, as he turned to the door; "do, pray, tell the world that I am too insignificant a person for its notice; and, above all, do assure yourself that I shall try as much as possible to avoid its notice." Lady Anne rose up with a host of pretensions on her lips, but Mr. Glentworth was gone. "Les ondits sont le gazette des foux" thought he, as he descended the staircase. The saying is true enough; still, it admits of a question whether such a gazette can be altogether disregarded, for "les foux" have, at all events, the majority on their side.
The sight of Mrs. Palmer at her window induced Mr. Glentworth to try if a visit to the kind-hearted old lady would not be a safety-valve for his present mood of irritation; besides, it would be pleasant to have some one agree with him in cordial dislike to Lady Anne's system of small yet selfish manœuvres. Nothing could be more old-fashioned, yet nothing could seem more cheerful than Mrs. Palmer's drawing-room. The furniture was the same when she married, and belonged to the spider-school. The legs
