“Well, my cousin?”
“You provoke me—well, then, what said your friend?”
“That you deserved your reputation of beauty, but that you were not his style. Maltravers is in love, you know.”
“In love?”
“Yes, a pretty Frenchwoman! quite romantic—an attachment of some years’ standing.”
Florence turned away her face, and said no more.
“That’s a good fellow, Lumley,” said Lord Saxingham; “Florence is never more welcome to my eyes than at half-past one o’clock A.M., when I associate her with thoughts of my natural rest, and my unfortunate carriage-horses. By the by, I wish you would dine with me next Saturday.”
“Saturday: unfortunately I am engaged to my uncle.”
“Oh! he has behaved handsomely to you?”
“Yes.”