"Come and dine with us at seven-thirty _in
costume_, and I'll promise you a delightful time. And think how
proud the girls would be of showing off their _beau cousin_." _Et
patiti et patita._ I am again reminded that I owe it to my
position, my title. God ha' mercy on us! To bedeck myself like
a decayed mummer in a booth and frisk about in a pestilential
atmosphere with a crowd of strange and uninteresting young
females is the correct way of fulfilling the obligations that the
sovereign laid upon the successors to the title, when he
conferred the dignity of a baronetcy on my great-grandfather!
Now I come to think of it the Prince Regent was that sovereign,
and my ancestor did things for him at Brighton. Perhaps after
all there is a savage irony of truth in Aunt Jessica's
suggestion!
And a _beau cousin_ should I be indeed. What does she think I
would go as? A mousquetaire? or a troubadour in blue satin
trunks and cloak, white silk tights and shoes and a Grecian
helmet, like Mr. Snodgrass at Mrs. Leo Hunter's _fete champetre?_
I wish I could fathom Aunt Jessica's reasons for her attempts at
involving me in her social mountebankery.
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