It was equally natural also that he should wish his fair companion to admire the choice flowers as well as himself.
Lord Fitzbogleton had not a very strong voice; indeed, it might be said to be weak. He had, moreover, a slight lisp. This is rather pleasing than otherwise in a female, provided she be young and pretty, but it cannot be deemed a recommendation to one of the sterner sex.
But, despite all these little drawbacks, his lordship was a thoroughly good-natured man, and good-hearted as well, and this is saying a great deal just now, seeing how few possess either of these qualifications.
When the young people had gained the conservatory Lord Fitzbogleton, after passing his remarks on the plants before him and discoursing on their various properties, and which country they were indigenous to, he looked into the face of his companion.
He intended to convey by the look unutterable things, but its eloquence was lost upon his companion.
“Now, I don’t know what you think, Miss Lovejoyce, but I call this the most pleasant part of the day. I have never felt so happy as at the present moment.”
“I am glad to hear you say so,” observed Arabella, looking intently, with the eye of a connoisseur, at the magnificent bloom of a cactus.
“You are? By Jove, that’s wery wemarkable! I hope and trust the feeling is wecipwocal. Indeed, I feel assured it is.”
“Oh, certainly, I hope so,” returned his fair companion, who, however, had great difficulty in suppressing a smile.
“Well, you know, I am not much of a fellow for argument and all that sort of thing, you know, and I can’t for a moment pwetend to tell stories and anecdotes like our fwends in the other room; still, I can appweciate a good tale if it’s well told, and like to hear fellows hold forth, but I much pwefer being alone with a cweature like—well, like yourself, Miss Lovejoyce. You understand my meaning, eh!”