door by which my lord had entered the hall, and up a stair, and through
an ante-room to my lady's drawing-room--an apartment than which Harry
thought he had never seen anything more grand--no, not in the Tower
of London which he had just visited. Indeed, the chamber was richly
ornamented in the manner of Queen Elizabeth's time, with great stained
windows at either end, and hangings of tapestry, which the sun shining
through the colored glass painted of a thousand lines; and here in
state, by the fire, sat a lady to whom the priest took up Harry, who was
indeed amazed by her appearance.

My Lady Viscountess's face was daubed with white and red up to the eyes,
to which the paint gave an unearthly glare: she had a tower of lace on
her head, under which was a bush of black curls--borrowed curls--so that
no wonder little Harry Esmond was scared when he was first presented to
her--the kind priest acting as master of the ceremonies at that solemn
introduction--and he stared at her with eyes almost as great as her own,
as he had stared at the player woman who acted the wicked tragedy-queen,
when the players came down to Ealing Fair. She sat in a great chair by
the fire-corner; in her lap was a spaniel-dog that barked furiously; on
a little table by her was her ladyship's snuff-box and her sugar-plum
box. She wore a dress of black velvet, and a petticoat of flame-colored
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 pantofles with red heels;
and an odor of musk was shook out of her garments whenever she moved
or quitted the room, leaning on her tortoise-shell stick, little Fury
barking at her heels.

Mrs. Tusher, the parson's wife, was with my lady. She had been
waiting-woman to her ladyship in the late lord's time, and, having her