Not long after, sir
William Twyford and lord Martin came in, arm in arm.
The peer strutted immediately to the upper end of the room. Delia stood
near him. "My lovely girl," said he, with an air of vulgar familiarity, "I
am rejoiced to see you. I hope I shall one day prove myself worthy of your
favour."
While this passed Mr. Prettyman was by no means in an enviable condition.
From the operation of fear and vexation he perspired very profusely.
Vanity, as we have said, might almost be termed his ruling passion, and he
would never have sacrificed it so publicly to any consideration less
immediate than that of personal safety. Ardently did he long to have the
terrible scene concluded. But he had neither strength nor spirits to
advance a step, or even to rise from his seat.
Sir William Twyford now came up to him, and took hold of his hand. "My
dear friend," said he, "be not dispirited. It is no more than a flea-bite,
and it will be over in a moment. You will acquire the friendship of the
first personage in the county, and far from losing any thing in the public
esteem, you will be more respected than ever." "_Morbleu_," cried the
beau, "my shoulders ake for it already. But, _mon tres cher & tres
excellent ami_, do not desert me, and remind the peer of the generosity
you talked of."
Sir William now raised him from his seat, and led him to the middle of the
room.
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