“Why don't you tell me?--but it can't be--I don't believe it!--no, you
are an impostor!”
Sir Joshua and Lord Palmerston were both at her side--oh, how notably
silly must I look! She again repeated her question of “Is it true?” and
I again affected not to understand her: and then Sir Joshua, taking hold
on her arm, attempted to pull her away, saying
“Come, come, Mrs. Cholmondeley, I won't have her overpowered here!”
I love Sir Joshua much for this. But Mrs. Cholmondeley, turning to him,
said, with quickness and vehemence:--
“Why, I a'n't going to kill her! don't be afraid, I sha'n't compliment
her!--I can't, indeed!”
Then, taking my hand, she led me through them all, to another part of
the room, where again she examined my phiz, and viewed and reviewed my
whole person.
“Now,” said she, “do tell me; is it true?”
“What, ma'am?--I don't-I don't know what--”
“Pho! what,--why you know what: in short, can you read? and can you
write?”
“No, ma'am!”
“I thought so,” cried she, “I have suspected it was a trick, some time,
and now I am sure of it. You are too young by half!--it can't be!”