Read it through once

Truth to tell, this visit to London was having the effect of slightly exalting our gentle village author; she found herself the very centre of attraction, every one paying her homage. Talfourd’s house was besieged by callers—not on Talfourd—but on his guest. Wordsworth was calling every day, chanting the praises of _Rienzi_ and the abilities of its author; the Duke of Devonshire brought her “a splendid nosegay of lilies of the valley—a thousand flowers without leaves,” and begged her never to come again to London without informing him and giving him the opportunity of enjoying a similar pleasure. Mr. and Mrs. Talfourd grew indignant; they had not bargained for this when they invited their quaintly-clad, old-fashioned friend from Three Mile Cross to witness the triumph of Talfourd and _Ion_! Talfourd was jealous, positively jealous, and openly showed it by a marked coolness towards his old friend, a coolness which she pretended not to notice, although it hurt her very much. “They are much displeased with Miss Mitford,” wrote Macready of his friends the Talfourds. “She seems to be showing herself _well up_.” “William Harness says he never saw any one received with such a mixture of enthusiasm and respect as I have been—not even Madame de Staël. Wordsworth, dear old man! aids it by his warm and approving kindness”—was Miss Mitford’s report to her father.