"They say, that fool Pelham makes up to her." (Little did Mr. Aberton
imagine, when he made this remark, that I was close behind him.)

"I should not imagine that was true," said the secretary; "he is so
occupied with Madame D'Anville."

"Pooh!" said Aberton, dictatorially, "she never had any thing to say to
him."

"Why are you so sure?" said Mr. Howard de Howard.

"Why? because he never showed any notes from her, or ever even said he
had a liaison with her himself!"

"Ah! that is quite enough!" said the secretary. "But, is not that the
Duchesse de Perpignan?"

Mr. Aberton turned, and so did I--our eyes met--his fell--well they
might, after his courteous epithet to my name; however, I had far too
good an opinion of myself to care one straw about his; besides, at that
moment, I was wholly lost in my surprise and pleasure, in finding that
this Duchesse de Perpignan was no other than my acquaintance of the
morning. She caught my gaze and smiled as she bowed. "Now," thought I, as
I approached her, "let us see if we cannot eclipse Mr. Aberton."

All love-making is just the same, and, therefore, I shall spare the
reader my conversation that evening. When he recollects that it was Henry
Pelham who was the gallant, I am persuaded that he will be pretty certain
as to the success.