Mary walked forward, smiling with contempt, until they reached the
saloon, where the Misses Dundas were closely engaged in conversation
with the Marquis of Elesmere.
Lascelles, who trembled for his Golconda at this sight, stepped
briskly up. Miss Beaufort, who did not wish to lose sight of her
purse whilst in the power of such a Lothario, followed him, and
placed herself against the arm of the sofa on which Euphemia sat.
Lascelles now bowed his scented locks to Diana in vain; Lord Elesmere
was describing the last heat at Newmarket, and the attention of
neither lady could be withdrawn.
The beau became so irritated by the neglect of Euphemia, and so
nettled at her sister's overlooking him, that assuming a gay air, he
struck Miss Dundas's arm a smart stroke with Miss Beaufort's purse;
and laughing, to show the strong opposition between his broad white
teeth and the miserable mouth of his lordly rival, hoped to alarm him
by his familiarity, and to obtain a triumph over the ladies by
degrading them in the eyes of the peer.
"Miss Dundas," demanded he, "who was that quiz of a man in black your
sister walked with the other day in Portland Place?"
"Me!" cried Euphemia, surprised.
"Ay!" returned he; "I was crossing from Weymouth Street, when I
perceived you accost a strange-looking person--a courier from the
moon, perhaps! You may remember you sauntered with him as far as
Sir William Miller's.
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