“You are very desperate, in truth, child. What do you say—will you risk all, and come and be my duenna? You are older than I, sure, and shall defend your little sister from slander. I will get the earl to consent, if you will say yes.”
She seemed beyond answering, but could only cling to me in a kind of frenzied rapture.
“And I will make a fine bird of my Jenny Wren,” I said, still busy with her; “for she has a thousand pretty little modest graces which will do me a vast credit in the dressing. You shall keep your natural hair, miss, for powder, since the tax, is not à la mode with the best; but a gentleman’s arm—le cas échéant—would never go round this waist by three inches.”
I peeped, with a smile, into her face.
“O, if I only dared!” she sighed.
“Sir Benjamin,” I cried, rising instantly, “escort us to the gates, please, and call a coach.”
An hour later I broke upon his lordship’s privacy.
“Nunky,” I cried, “I want permission for a new toy, please.”
He looked up askew. He was in the hands of his valet.
“I have been taking thought for my reputation,” I said, “and desire a duenna.”