The Christmas games we had been showing Miss Dewes, it seemed as if we were still performing, as none of us thought it ) proper to move, though our manner of standing reminded one of “Puss in the corner.”  Close to the door was posted Miss Port; opposite her, close to the wainscot, stood Mr. Dewes; at just an equal distance from him, close to a window, stood myself Mrs. Delany, though seated, was at the opposite side to Miss Port; and his majesty kept pretty much in the middle of the room.  The little girl, who kept close to me, did not break the order, and I could hardly help expecting to be beckoned, with a puss!  Puss!  Puss! to change places with one of my neighbours.

This idea, afterwards, gave way to another more pompous.  It seemed to me we were acting a play.  There is something so little like common and real life, in everybody’s standing, while talking, in a room full of chairs, and standing, too, so aloof from each other, that I almost thought myself upon a stage, assisting in the representation of a tragedy,—­in which the king played his own part, of the king; Mrs. Delany that of a venerable confidante; Mr. Dewes, his respectful attendant;Miss Port, a suppliant Virgin, waiting encouragement to bring forward some petition; Miss Dewes, a young orphan, intened to move the royal compassion; and myself,—­a very solemn, sober, and decent mute.

These fancies, however, only regaled me while I continued a quiet spectator, and without expectation of being called into play.  Butt the king, I have reason to think, meant only to give me time to recover from my first embarrassment; and I feel infinitely obliged to his good breeding and consideration, which perfectly answered, for before he returned to me, I was entirely recruited, 301`

To go back to my narration.

When the discourse upon health and strength was over, the king went up to the table, and looked at a book of prints, from Claude Lorraine, which had been brought down for Miss Dewes; but Mrs. Delany, by mistake, told him they were for me.  He turned over a leaf or two, and then said—­

“Pray, does Miss Burney draw, too?”

The too was pronounced very civilly.

“I believe not, Sir,” answered Mrs. Delany “at least, she does not tell.”

“Oh!” cried he, laughing, “that’s nothing; she is not apt to tell! she never does tell, you know!—­Her father told me that himself.  He told me the whole history of her ‘Evelina.’  And I shall never forget his face when he spoke of his feelings at first taking up the book!—­he looked quite frightened, just as if he was doing it that moment!  I never can forget his face while I live!”

The king categorically questions Miss Burney.

Then coming up close to me, the king said-

“But what?—­what?—­how was it?”

“Sir”—­cried I, not well understanding him.

“How came you—­how happened it—­what?—­what?”