"Then dry it by the flame in the Colonel's eyes as he nears and takes in my trousers, and hang it so he gets a double show," exclaimed Madame, recklessly.
"Or the heat from the orbs of Everly as he gazes on the approaching belle would do the business," echoed Delrose.
"Heat, indeed!" cried madame, "and, Miss Vernon, he's emerald green jealous of you! never mind, dear little Sir Tilton, I'll pet you by- and-by; here, come and lift, down one of my feet, the Major or Sir Peter may have the other; and now adieu to the gay abandon and for the conventionalities, if I can."
"Honours are divided," cried Delrose, lifting down one foot.
"So is the skirt," said the Colonel, with grave dignity. "Kate, I wish you would dress in a manner befitting your station."
"Your niece will tell you, Colonel," she said, rising to welcome Vaura "that men's eyes are women's mirrors; what I see there pleases me; you are in the minority and feel considerably sat upon, and not—" she added, laughingly, "so comfortable in your trousers as I in mine; take it coolly Colonel, and the flame in your eyes will die out, 'tis as the flicker of an old-fashioned candle; the electric, light the newest flame for me."
"Pardon, Kate, I accept the trousers; being only your husband and in the minority (as you say), I am old-fashioned; the latest flame puts me out."
And the latent meaning in his words was read by more than the speaker.
"You don't say how you like the painting, Miss Vernon," said Delrose, on being presented, "the divided skirt would suit your style immensely."
"Anything would," said Sir Tilton, almost savagely, and in a half growl.