Mrs. Paradise, leaning over the Kirwans and Charlotte, who hardly got a seat all night for the crowd, said she begged to speak to me.  I squeezed my great person out, and she then said,-

“Miss Burney, Lady Say and Sele desires the honour of being introduced to you.”

Her ladyship stood by her side.  She seems pretty near fifty-at least turned forty ; her head was full of feathers, flowers, jewels, and gew-gaws, and as high as Lady Archer’s her dress was trimmed with beads, silver, persian sashes, and all sorts of fine fancies; her face is thin and fiery, and her whole manner spoke a lady all alive.

“Miss Burney,” cried she, with great quickness, and a look all curiosity, “I am very happy to see you; I have longed to see you a great while.  I have read your performance, and I am quite delighted with it.  I think it’s the most elegant novel I ever read in my life.  Such a style!  I am quite surprised at it.  I can’t think where you got so much invention!”

You may believe this was a reception not to make me very loquacious.  I did not know which way to turn my head.

225

“I must introduce You,” continued her ladyship, “to my sister; she’ll be quite delighted to see you.  She has written a novel herself so you are sister authoresseS.  A most elegant thing it is, I assure You; almost as pretty as yours, only not quite so elegant.  She has written two novels, only one is not so pretty as the other.  But I shall insist upon your seeing them.  One is in letters, like yours, only yours is prettiest ; it’s called the ’Mausoleum of Julia’!”

What unfeeling things, thought I, are my sisters!  I’m sure I never heard them go about thus praising me.  Mrs. Paradise then again came forward, and taking my hand, led me up to her ladyship’s sister, Lady Hawke, saying aloud, and with a courteous smirk,

“Miss Burney, ma’am, authoress of ‘Evelina.’”

“Yes,” cried my friend, Lady Say and Sele, who followed me close, “it’s the authoress of ‘Evelina,’ so you are sister authoresses!”

Lady Hawke arose and curtsied.  She is much younger than her sister, and rather pretty; extremely languishing, delicate, and pathetic; apparently accustomed to be reckoned the genius of her family, and well contented to be looked upon as a creature dropped from the clouds.  I was then seated between their ladyships, and Lady S. and S., drawing as near to me as possible, said,-

“Well, and so you wrote this pretty book ! -and pray did your papa know of it?”

“No, ma’am; not till some months after the publication.”

“So I’ve heard — it’s surprising!  I can’t think how you invented it!—­there’s a vast deal of invention in it!  And you’ve got so much humour, too!  Now my sister has no humour; hers is all sentiment.  You can’t think how I was entertained with that old grandmother and her son!”

I suppose she meant Tom Branghton for the son.