"I am very grateful," she replied, giving Tom one of her flashing glances. "Admiration is as rare a thing in this region as Mr. Dickinson considers bright women."
Tom was quite abashed; like many another bad man, he was never at ease in the presence of a well-bred woman—and that Sybil was a lady no one could have denied; it was perceptible in every word and movement.
Yates had to go through his usual routine of maledictions upon his servants and mules; then he mounted his own particular beast, blew a kiss to Sybil, and called out:
"Come, Tom, are you going to stand all night flirting with my wife, I should like to know?"
"What abominable things you do say!" exclaimed Tom, coloring like a girl, and making all haste to get on to his mule, by way of covering his confusion.
"Oh, Mr. Dickinson," said Sybil, "I would not have believed you so ungallant!"
"As how?" questioned Tom.
"You said that it was an abominable thing to admire me. Really, I am astonished!"
"That wasn't what I meant," he replied. "But you know I never can say what I want to, I'm such a stupid fool of a fellow—always was, among women folks."
"There, Tom, that will do! You have got out of the scrape beautifully," said Yates, lending his friend's mule a cut with his black whip. "You have danced attendance on the Graces long enough for one day."