She raised her lids, and again dropped them. The shadow of a smile twitched the corners of her mouth. And then her breath caught, suddenly and irresistibly, in a little half-hysterical laugh. The pomposity of this prelude was after all too much for her.
“O, my lord Duke,” she said, “if I were to assume the nature of this favour from the solemnity of its introduction, I should have no alternative but to refuse it offhand, as implying something grave and weighty beyond my years. I pray you bear my youth in mind.”
He smiled, relieved and at ease.
“Most tenderly, madam. For all that resounding symphony, you shall find the piece, when we come to play it, a very pastorale in lightness. Will you not be seated?”
“By your favour, your Highness—when you have set me the example.”
She sought to take refuge from her fluttering apprehensions behind that shy insistence on punctilio. The Duke bowed, and accepting a chair from his lordship of Arran, signified his entreaty that the lady should occupy another contiguous. Kate had no choice but to obey. She was not yet mistress of her blushes, and she blushed as she seated herself. But there was a strange excitement in her heart, nevertheless.
“Now,” said his Highness, “I am in the position of a litigant, who hath engaged an advocate to plead his cause for him. So, like a sensible client, I leave the first word to him.”
He waited, in a serene confidence. Lady Chesterfield looked at her brother.
“What is it, Richard?”
His lordship giggled, “hem’d,” pulled at his cravat, and spoke.