"Evelyn, my queen, you are ready for the conquest!" cried the
beauty, taking one long gaze, and then picking up the jewelled fan
that fell at her feet went forth at the summons of the waiting-maid
to receive a visitor in the drawing-room.
"The Hon. Cecil Featherstone! The man is my slave! Why is he here at
such an early hour?--it is too bad! What shall I do with poor
Huntington, my latest flame? Oh, dear! I wish the men were not so
incorrigible! Featherstone--it ought to be Featherhead, for I
believe his head is sadly light of brains. Featherhead--Hon. Cecil
Featherhead!--ha! ha! ha!"
Had not the grand drawing-room been at the other end of the spacious
hall the latter part of Mrs. Arnold's speech would have been heard
by the subject of these remarks. Be it said, to that gentleman's
ease of mind, that he was in the meantime admiring some choice
paintings and counting the minutes hours until the fair hostess
should arrive.
"This is an unexpected pleasure, Mr. Featherstone! I was really
wondering what I should do with myself until the opera--and how kind
of you, Mr. Featherstone, to think of me! I believe that I am one
of the most favored of mortals!"
Having made this speech, Mrs.
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