"Did he say so, indeed!" said Mistress Bellairs, reflectively. "Well, my good creature, and what say you?"
"La!" said the maid, and the brush trembled over her mistress's curls, "I say, ma'am, that if you was to make such a sacrifice, you so young, and lovely, and so much admired, I humbly hopes you might pick out someone livelier than my Lord Verney."
"Now, whom," said Mistress Bellairs, in a tone of good-humoured banter, "would you choose, I wonder? What would you say to the Marquis, Lydia?"
"Oh, ma'am! His lordship is a real nobleman—as the prize-fighters all say—and a better judge in the cockpit, Mr. Bantam, the trainer, says, never breathed, drunk or sober; and no doubt when he's sober, ma'am, he'd make as good a husband as most."
"Well, well, girl, enough of him. What of Mr. Stafford, now?"
"Oh, Mr. Stafford, ma'am, that's a comely gentleman; not one bit of padding under his stockings, and an eye 'twould wheedle the very heart out of one's bosom! And, no doubt, if you ever thought of him, ma'am, you'd see that he paid off the little French milliner handsome. He's a very constant gentleman," said Miss Lydia, with a suspicion of spite.
"Pooh," cried the lady, and pushed her chair away from the fire, "what nonsense you do talk! And pray what thinks your wisdom of Mr. O'Hara?"
"Lud! ma'am," cried the guileless maiden, "that's the gentleman as was found behind Lady Standish's curtains."
"If you were not a perfect idiot," cried the widow, "you would not repeat that absurd tale, much less expect me to believe it. Mr. O'Hara has never even spoken to Lady Standish."
The unusual warmth in her mistress's tone struck the girl's sharp wits. She glanced quickly at the lady's reflection in the glass, and made no reply.