“With a herring,” explained the squire.
“Well,” said Pamela, “that is just as cruel to the herring.”
She turned round on the instant to the sound of a little explosion of laughter.
“My lord!” she exclaimed.
She dropped her companion’s arm; bowed graciously to him.
“I commit myself to this escort,” she said. “A thousand thanks for the dance, monsieur.”
Poor Nimrod had no choice but to accept his dismissal. He had crowed over his fellow-squireens. He must come down now, a humbled cockerel. He walked away sulkily enough.
“Monsieur,” said Pamela to Ned, “I am glad to have amused you.”
“It is for the first time this evening,” said his lordship grimly.
She was beginning, in a little sputter of fire, “And pray what right have you——” when the expression in his face stopped her. A woman, no doubt, has some spiritual probe for testing the presence of love, as a butterfly feels for honey in a flower.