But Mr.Gray did wear a little powder, enough to save him in my lady's good opinion; but not enough to make her approve of him decidedly.
The next time I saw him was in the great hall.

Mary Mason and I were going to drive out with my lady in her coach, and when we went down stairs with our best hats and cloaks on, we found Mr.Gray awaiting my lady's coming.

I believe he had paid his respects to her before, but we had never seen him; and he had declined her invitation to spend Sunday evening at the Court (as Mr.Mountford used to do pretty regularly--and play a game at picquet too--), which, Mrs.Medlicott told us, had caused my lady to be not over well pleased with him.
He blushed redder than ever at the sight of us, as we entered the hall and dropped him our curtsies.

He coughed two or three times, as if he would have liked to speak to us, if he could but have found something to say; and every time he coughed he became hotter-looking than ever.

I am ashamed to say, we were nearly laughing at him; half because we, too, were so shy that we understood what his awkwardness meant.
My lady came in, with her quick active step--she always walked quickly when she did not bethink herself of her cane--as if she was sorry to have us kept waiting--and, as she entered, she gave us all round one of those graceful sweeping curtsies, of which I think the art must have died out with her,--it implied so much courtesy;--this time it said, as well as words could do, "I am sorry to have kept you all waiting,--forgive me." She went up to the mantelpiece, near which Mr.Gray had been standing until her entrance, and curtseying afresh to him, and pretty deeply this time, because of his cloth, and her being hostess, and he, a new guest.
She asked him if he would not prefer speaking to her in her own private parlour, and looked as though she would have conducted him there.