"True knight," she cried, "ever faithful?"
"To you, and to your cousin," he added with a little bow.
"Why, you don't even offer me an undivided affection," said the girl. "I suppose you are reserving yourself for the high jinks at The Park, Lord Spunyarn," she said. "Connie Sleek's a pretty girl, you know, and there are piles of untold gold, but in your case, though, that isn't an inducement."
"I'm too great a snob myself, dear Miss Warrender, at least, by birth, as you know, ever to fall a victim to a financial belle."
"Poor Connie Sleek, if she could only hear you. Depend upon it the dreams of both sisters last night were disturbed by visions of possible promotion. They couldn't restrain their raptures when they learnt that they were to entertain a lord, a real live lord, you know. But you are not to turn their heads, Lord Spunyarn; respect the innocence of our simple village maidens."
"It is that simple village innocence, Miss Warrender, which in your case has caused me to sigh so long in vain."
"Thanks," she said with a low courtesy, "the most sincere compliments are always the most grateful. À propos de rien, how did you leave Mrs. Charmington, Lord Spunyarn?"
"On the wane, decidedly on the wane. I think she will soon be a monarch retiring from business. Your cousin and you extinguished her effectually. There's a little Portuguese Jew, a financial light; he has ducats and a daughter: the ducats are undeniable; the daughter is all eyes, hair and diamonds; she is the last startling novelty of the season, and under royal patronage. There's only one chance for the Charmington to keep herself before the public: she should try the stage. God knows she has brass enough."
"You are all the same, Lord Spunyarn; when we cease to please you laugh at us. I suppose you'll be soon recommending me to try the stage."
"Oh, no, Miss Warrender. You are far too genuine, far too sincere."