“And his Countship,” said I, “will accept your invitation without asking his uncle’s leave.”
“Come, that is bold for a gentleman of—let me see, thirteen—are you not?”
“Really,” answered I, “one learns to forget time so terribly in the presence of Lady Hasselton that I do not remember even how long it has existed for me.”
“Bravo!” cried the knight, with a moistening eye; “you see, Madam, the boy has not lived with his old uncle for nothing.”
“I am lost in astonishment!” said the lady, glancing towards the glass; “why, you will eclipse all our beaux at your first appearance; but—but—Sir William—how green those glasses have become! Bless me, there is something so contagious in the effects of the country that the very mirrors grow verdant. But—Count—Count—where are you, Count? [I was exactly opposite to the fair speaker.] Oh, there you are! Pray, do you carry a little pocket-glass of the true quality about you? But, of course you do; lend it me.”
“I have not the glass you want, but I carry with me a mirror that reflects your features much more faithfully.”
“How! I protest I do not understand you!”
“The mirror is here!” said I, laying my hand to my heart.
“‘Gad, I must kiss the boy!” cried my uncle, starting up.
“I have sworn,” said I, fixing my eyes upon the lady,—“I have sworn never to be kissed, even by women. You must pardon me, Uncle.”