“Why, I didn’t accuse her of temper!” said Lord Cecil, with some astonishment and an amused laugh; “it was you yourself!”
“No, really? Did I? I’m sure I had no such intention. But I see you think—eh?—perhaps a little inclined to jealousy? Well, there may be a touch of that in her composition, now you speak of it.”
Lord Cecil stared at him with a half-amused smile.
“Terrible thing, jealousy, Cecil! My poor father—I don’t think you knew him?”
Lord Cecil shook his head, as he thought, “And no one else that I ever heard of!”
“My poor dear father,” continued Spenser Churchill, with a plaintive air of reflection, “had warned me against that peculiar temperament. ‘Never, my dear Spenser,’ he would say, ‘never marry a jealous-natured woman. You had better throw yourself into the first horsepond!’”
“And you never have done either?” said Lord Cecil, knocking the ash off his cigar.
“N—o,” said Spenser Churchill; “and do you really think that dear Lady Grace has a jealous disposition? Now, really, Cecil, I think you must be mistaken——”
“Confound it!” said Lord Cecil, “I never said anything of the kind! Don’t put words I never used into my mouth, please, Churchill!”
“Didn’t you? Then how did I get the idea, I wonder?” responded the other, looking gravely troubled. “Surely not from Lady Grace herself? Oh! no—no!” and he looked extremely pained. “I should very much regret giving you a wrong impression of my opinion of that charming young creature, my dear Cecil! Most charming! Ah! what a wife she will make! You don’t agree with me—no? Well, perhaps—er—yes, I understand you. Beauty, however charming it may be, is not the best possession a woman can boast. No! after all, perhaps, as you think, a young, unsophisticated girl, unaccustomed to the intoxication of constant admiration, would prove a more valuable companion for one’s life. These London belles are—er—like the well-known Oriental fruit, more beautiful to the eye than the touch, and——”