“’Tis a pity that the occasion should have been quite so public.”
And my Lord Verney, drawing in his turn the clay from his lips, burst out:
“Susan says—My Lady Verney hath it that ’twas Mistress Lafone’s very plan, to show you up before their gracious Majesties and shame Kitty.”
Kilcroney stared a moment with widening eyes and dropping jaw at the speaker. Then the crimson rose in his handsome dissipated face.
“Ah! God help you!” he exclaimed, “if that isn’t the ladies all over. ’Tis the down of the world they have on that poor little creature. And what in the name o’ God should she want to be playing such a thrick for? And sure, oughtn’t I to know, ’twas the innocentest——” he broke off, for Squire Day’s laugh was loud.
“Innocent?” he repeated. “My dear Kil, ’tis you who are as innocent as Adam! But I’m with you on one point. The ladies have treated that little Lafone monstrous cruel. I doubt if they have as much as let her nibble a macaroon with them since they came down here. And your Kitty has given the lead.”
“My Kitty!” exclaimed her spouse in a generous heat. “Why, man, she’s picked that same Molly out of a hundred scrapes. Sure, Lafone’s no more sense than a child. Why, she owes my Lady——”
“Ah,” said Squire Day, quietly, “she’s one who pays back with interest.”
Kilcroney stared again.
“I’ll be hanged if I know what you’re driving at, men,” he began, but suddenly fell silent with fixed eyes.