Henry asked his wife at breakfast the next morning. “My beaux? Whatever do you mean?” “Your dance partners from last night, who no doubt will call this morning, bringing you nosegays, and poems of their own composition dedicated to your beauty, and other tributes.” “I hardly think so, Henry. I am barely acquainted with any of them.” “I think it a very hard thing indeed when a man must bribe the master of the ceremonies in order to secure a dance with his own wife. Not that half a crown is too much to pay to dance with you, my sweet.” “If you wish, I shall tell the other gentlemen I am engaged to you from now on. I would prefer to dance only with you—well, and with John, and perhaps Sir Philip, who was very obliging when I was left without a partner.” “Yes; Beauclerk can be most obliging. I would not keep you from your partners at the rooms, my sweet, but if you are not at home to morning-callers, may I engage you today for a country walk?” Catherine’s face fell.
