He asks for the Countess.  Is admitted into the outward parlour—­her woman comes down; requires his name and business.  His name he mentioned not.  His business was, to restore into her lady’s own hands, something she had dropt the night before.—­Was desired to wait.

I should have said, that he was dressed very richly—­having no design at all to make conquests; no, not he!—­O this wicked love of intrigue!—­A kind of olive-coloured velvet, and fine brocaded waistcoat.  I said, when he took leave of me, “You’re a charming Mr. B.,” and saluted him, more pressingly than he returned it; but little did I think, when I plaited so smooth his rich laced ruffles, and bosom, where he was going, or what he had in his plotting heart.  He went in his own chariot, that he did:  so that he had no design to conceal who he was—­But intrigue, a new conquest, vanity, pride!—­O these men!—­They had need talk of ladies!—­But it is half our own fault, indeed it is, to encourage their vanity.

Well, Madam, he waited till his stateliness was moved to send up again, that he would wait on her ladyship some other time.  So down she came, dressed most richly, jewels in her breast, and in her hair, and ears—­But with a very reserved and stately air.  He approached her—­Methinks I see him, dear saucy gentleman.  You know, Madam, what a noble manner of address he has.

He took the handkerchief from his bosom with an air; and kissing it, presented it to her, saying, “This happy estray, thus restored, begs leave, by me, to acknowledge its lovely owner!”

“What mean you, Sir?—­Who are you, Sir?—­What mean you?”

“Your ladyship will excuse me:  but I am incapable of meaning any thing but what is honourable.”—­(No, to be sure)—­“This, Madam, you left last night, when the domino took up every one’s attention but mine, which was much better engaged; and I take the liberty to restore it to you.”

She turned to the mark; a coronet at one corner, “’Tis true, Sir, I see now it is one of mine:  but such a trifle was not worthy of being brought by such a gentleman as you seem to be; nor of my trouble to receive it in person.  Your servant, Sir, might have delivered the bagatelle to mine.”—­“Nothing should be called so that belongs to the Countess of ——­“—­“She was no Countess, Sir, that dropt that handkerchief, and a gentleman would not attempt to penetrate, unbecomingly, through the disguises a lady thinks proper to assume; especially at such a place where every enquiry should begin and end.”

This, Madam, from a lady, who had unmasked—­because she would not be known!—­Very pretty, indeed!—­Oh! these slight cobweb airs of modesty! so easily seen through.  Hence such advantages against us are taken by the men.  She had looked out of her window, and seen no arms quartered with his own; for you know, my lady, I would never permit any to be procured for me:  so, she doubted not, it seems, but he was an unmarried gentleman, as he had intimated to her the night before.  He told her it was impossible, after having seen the finest lady in the world, not to wish to see her again; and that he hoped he did not, unbecomingly, break through her ladyship’s reserves:  nor had he made any enquiries, either on the spot, or off it; having had a much better direction by accident.