"My
dear Miss Frampton," said his lordship, with a familiar and indifferent
air, "I cannot stop a moment. I am mortified to death. The most
unfortunate man! But I could not live a whole day without seeing you.
Believe me to be more impassioned, more ardent than ever." Saying this be
directed a slight glance and a half bow towards our two friends. "Farewel,
my charmer, my adorable!" said he, and kissed her hand. Miss Frampton
struck him a slight blow with her fan, and crying, with an easy wink,
"Remember!" she dropt him a profound curtesey and his lordship departed.
For a moment the whole company was silent. "By my soul," exclaimed sir
William, "this is the most singular affair!" "Oh, nothing at all,"
answered the young lady. "It is all _a la mode de Paris_. In France
no man of fashion can presume to accost a lady, whether young or old, but
in the language of love. But it means no more, than when a minister of
state says to his first clerk, _your humble servant_, or to the widow
of a poor seaman, _your devoted slave_." "Oh," cried sir William, "that
is all. And by my faith, it is mighty pretty. What think you Damon? I
hope, when you are married, you will have no objection to lord Osborne, or
any other person of fashion making love to your wife before your face."
"What an indelicate question!" said Miss Frampton. "I declare, baronet,
you are grown an absolute boor.
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