"Oh, my God!" exclaimed the dowager; "Mr. Baily! It must be a lie--I
declare it must!"
"Will you have my _sal-volatile_, madam?" said the malicious lady,
enjoying the scene, while she offered her vinaigrette.
"I won't believe it. Who told you, Mrs. Grayson?"
"Himself," replied Mrs. Grayson, calmly.
"He's crazy! He's been flighty these two years, with his long coats,
and fast-days, and confession," cried the dowager, fanning herself
violently, and snuffing the _sal-volatile_, until she grew purple in
the face. "As to the others, they are doting. I'll go this moment, if
you'll excuse me, Mrs. Jerrold, and make my coachman drive me there;
and if he has done so, I'll rouse him, as sure as I have a tongue in my
head. I knew him when he was a boy, and I protest against it," she
said, screaming like an angry macaw, as she fluttered out.
"The town's crazy about Mr. Baily's conversion. I am not surprised at
Mrs. Fanshaw's excitement. But let us make up a party, and go tonight,
Mrs. Jerrold. The gentleman who conducts this thing, and pulls the
wires, is a man of irresistible eloquence. He was one of us a few
years ago."
"It would be dangerous to venture, I should think," said Helen, with a
dim smile; "but if Mr. Jerrold has no other engagement--"
"Is it of the famous 'Mission' you are speaking, Helen?" interrupted
her mother-in-law, rustling in silk and jewels, "Yes; of course we must
go. We shall be quite out of the fashion, if we do not.
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