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88 something of the world; he particularly remarked to Mrs. Cholmondeley, that, though I was a sweet creature enough, I had rather a bread-and-butter eating, school-girl air; of which it was his special desire that I should get rid, by an introduction to society here, before I make my regular début in England. Well, then, if I go out, I must dress. Mrs. Cholmondeley is turned shabby, and will give nothing more; it would be too hard upon uncle to make him pay for all the things I need: that you can't deny—that agrees with your own pretensions. Well, but SOMEBODY who heard me (quite by chance, I assure you) complaining to Mrs. Cholmondeley of my distressed circumstances, and what straits I was put to for an ornament or two: somebody, far from grudging one a present, was quite delighted at the idea of being permitted to offer some trifle. You should have seen what a blanc-becgreenhorn [sic] he looked when he first spoke of it: how he hesitated and blushed, and positively trembled from fear of a repulse".

"That will do, Miss Fanshawe. I suppose I am to understand that M. Isidore is the benefactor: that it is from him you have accepted that costly parureset [sic]; that he supplies your bouquets and your gloves?"

"You express yourself so disagreeably", said she, "one hardly knows how to answer; what I mean to say is, that I occasionally allow Isidore the pleasure and honor of expressing his homage, by the offer of a trifle".

"It comes from the same thing.... Now, Ginerva, to speak the plain truth, I don't very well understand these matters; but I believe you are doing very wrong—seriously wrong. Perhaps, however, you now feel certain that you will be able to marry M. Isidore—your parents and uncle have given their consent—and, as for your part, you love him entirely?"

"Mais pas du tout!Not at all! [sic]" (she always had recourse to French, when about to say something specially heartless and perverse). "Je suis sa reine, mais il n'est pas mon roiI am his queen, but he is not my king [sic]".

"Excuse me, I must believe this language is mere nonsense and coquetry. There is nothing great about you, yet you are above profiting by the good nature and purse of a man to whom you feel absolute indifference. You love M. Isidore far more than you think, or will avow".

"No. I danced with a young officer the other night, whom I love a thousand times more than he. I often wonder why I feel