"Look out a beau, nay, two or three, 'tis safer! Talk discreetly with them in the Pump-Room, let them fan you at the ball, let them meet you in Orange-Grove. Or, if you have not spirit enough—and indeed, my sweet life, you sadly lack spirit—start but an imaginary one, merely for the use of your lord and master: I wager you he will rise to the fly."
"I am afraid Sir Jasper could be very jealous," said the other uneasily. "I remember before we were wed, when my cousin Harry would ride with me to the meet, oh, how angry Sir Jasper was! He swore he would shoot himself, ay, and he was all for shooting Harry too."
"But he was not the less ardent with you on the score of it, I'll warrant him," said the experienced Mistress Bellairs.
"Ah, no," said Lady Standish, and her lip trembled over a smile, while the ready water sprang to her eyelashes, and: "Ah, no!" she said again. "Indeed, he loved me then very ardently."
"And he'll love you so still if you have but a spark of courage. Get you to your room," said the widow, goodhumouredly, "bustle up and play your part. Where is that woman of yours?"
She pushed Lady Standish before her as she spoke, herself rang the call-bell for the tire-woman, and gave a few pregnant suggestions to that worthy, who advanced all sour smiles and disapproving dips. Then she strolled back into the drawing-room and paused a moment as she slipped on her long gloves. Next she drew a letter from her pocket and began to read it with a thoughtful brow.
"No, no, Sir Jasper," she said half aloud, "you're a fine gentleman, and a pretty fellow, you have a neat leg, and an eloquent turn of speech, but I will not have the child's heart broken for the amusement of an idle day."
She took the letter between each little forefinger and thumb as if to tear it, thought better of it, folded it again and thrust it back into its place of concealment.
Presently she smiled to herself, and walked out of the long open window across the little strip of garden, and so through the iron gate into the shady back street.