box. She wore a dress of black velvet, and a petticoat of flame-coloured
brocade. She had as many rings on her fingers as the old woman of
Banbury Cross; and pretty, small feet which she was fond of showing,
with great gold clocks to her stockings, and white slippers with red
heels; and an odour of musk was shaken out of her garments whenever she
moved or quitted the room, leaning on her tortoise-shell stick, little
Fury, the dog, barking at her heels, and Mrs. Tusher, the parson's wife,
by her side.

"I present to your ladyship your kinsman and little page of honour,
Master Henry Esmond," Mr. Holt said, bowing lowly, with a sort of comical
humility. "Make a pretty bow to my lady, Monsieur; and then another
little bow, not so low, to Madame Tusher."

Upon my lady the boy's whole attention was for a time directed. He could
not keep his great eyes from her. Since the Empress of Ealing, he had
seen nothing so awful.

"Does my appearance please you, little page?" asked the lady.

"He would be very hard to please if it didn't," cried Madame Tusher.

"Have done, you silly Maria," said Lady Castlewood, adding, "Come and
kiss my hand, child"; and little Harry Esmond took and dutifully kissed
the lean old hand, upon the gnarled knuckles of which there glittered a
hundred rings.

"To kiss that hand would make many a pretty fellow happy!" cried Mrs.
Tusher; on which my lady cried out, "Go, you foolish Tusher!" and tapping
her with her great fan, Tusher ran forward to seize her hand and kiss it.