“I cannot express how much I feel indebted to the sympathy of my friends upon this trying occasion—­an occasion, indeed, that called for sympathy.”

“A most melancholy occasion!” said the Duke.

“A most distressing occasion!” exclaimed the General.

“Never was greater occasion!” moaned Mrs_._ Finch.

Her Ladyship wiped her eyes, and resumed.

“I feel that I act but a melancholy part, in spite of every exertion.  But my kind friend Mrs. Downe Wright’s spirits will, I trust, support me.  She knows what it is to lose—­”

Again her voice was buried in her handkerchief, and again she recovered and proceeded.

“I ought to apologise for being thus overcome; but my friends, I hope, will make due allowance for my situation.  It cannot be expected that I should at all times find myself able for company.”

“Not at all!” said the Duke; and the two satellites uttered their responses.

“You are able for a great deal, my dear!” said the provoking Mrs. Downe Wright; “and I have no doubt but, with a very little exertion, you could behave as if nothing had happened.”

“Your partiality makes you suppose me capable of a great deal more than I am equal to,” answered her Ladyship, with a real hysteric sob.  “It is not everyone who is blessed with the spirits of Mrs. Downe Wright.”

“What woman can do, you dare; who dares do more, is none!” said the General, bowing with a delighted air at this brilliant application.

Mrs. Downe Wright charitably allowed it to pass, as she thought it might be construed either as a compliment or a banter.  Visitors flocked in, and the insufferable Mrs. Downe Wright declared to all that her Ladyship was astonishingly well; but without the appropriate whine, which gives proper pathos, and generally accompanies this hackneyed speech.  Mrs. Finch indeed laboured hard to counteract the effect of this injudicious cheerfulness by the most orthodox sighs, shakes of the head, and confidential whispers, in which “wonderful woman!”—­“prodigious exertion!”—­“perfectly overcome!”—­“suffer for this afterwards,”—­were audibly heard by all present; but even then Mrs. Downe Wright’s drawn-up lip and curled nose spoke daggers.  At length the tormentor recollected an engagement she had made elsewhere, and took leave, promising to return, if possible, the following day.  Her friend, in her own mind, took her measures accordingly.  She resolved to order her own carriage to be in waiting, and if Mrs. Downe Wright put her threat in execution she would take an airing.  True, she had not intended to have been able for such an exertion for at least a week longer; but, with the blinds down, she thought it might have an interesting effect.

The enemy fairly gone, Lady Matilda seemed to feel like a person suddenly relieved from the nightmare; and she was beginning to give a fair specimen of her scenic powers when Lady Emily, seeing the game was up with Mrs. Downe Wright, abruptly rose to depart.