He broke into hoarse laughter, and cried again that, by Heaven, she was a well-plucked one, and they’d get on first class; that she should have the finest supper the Bear Inn could afford. If she’d stand by him, by Jingo, he’d stand by her. There wasn’t a gentleman in England who’d be such a friend to the woman who trusted him as he would be to her.
When they arrived at Ashford, she demanded, with a sudden air of command, which became her, he thought, mightily, and tickled his already high good humour to positive hilarity, that she should be brought to a sitting-room and partake of the meal in privacy while the post-chaise was being got ready.
“And,” quoth she, “let it be champagne, Sir Jasper, since”—she gave him a wide, taunting smile—“’tis to be made worth my while.”
He flung an arm about her the moment the waiter had withdrawn; she freed herself with a vigorous thrust, but as she did so, she laughed.
“Nay, drink your sillery, sir. Aye, pour me a glass. Oh, aye, I’ll drink any toast you like. Have you not said it yourself? I’m the best-natured girl in the world—so long as you keep your place, sir. Why, ’tis the finest pigeon-pie I’ve tasted since Paris. You know I was in Paris, Sir Jasper?”
Sir Jasper chuckled, winking at her.
Her fingers clenched round her knife, the while her smile would not have misbefitted the lips of a Bacchante.
“And will you bring me to the opera, Sir Jasper? Oh, and to Ranelagh? Oh, to think of me going to Ranelagh on a gentleman’s arm, like a lady!”
He was enraptured. He tossed the remainder of his tumbler down, and filled himself a third, emptying the bottle. He had almost forgotten the wager in the intoxication of his personal triumph. Dash it! It had not taken him long to cut out young Bellairs. What a demnition handsome piece she was. There wasn’t one of those raffish ladies he had left behind him at Standish Hall could hold a candle to her. And odds his life! What a pair of eyes she had, and what teeth, and what a skin!
Suddenly she dropped her knife and fork.