“Yes, Potts, be a Prince, and see how it will agree with you!”
CHAPTER XXI. HOW I PLAY THE PRINCE.
Mrs. Keats came down, and our dinner that day was somewhat formal. I don't think any of ns felt quite at ease, and, for my own part, it was a relief to me when the old lady asked my leave to retire after her coffee. “If you should feel lonely, sir, and if Miss Herbert's company would prove agreeable—”
“Yes,” said I, languidly, “that young person will find me in the garden.” And therewith I gave my orders for a small table under a great weeping-ash, and the usual accompaniment of my after-dinner hours, a cool flask of Chambertin. I had time to drink more than two-thirds of my Burgundy before Miss Herbert appeared. It was not that the hour hung heavily on me, or that I was not in a mood of considerable enjoyment, but somehow I was beginning to feel chafed and impatient at her long delay. Could she possibly have remonstrated against the impropriety of being left alone with a young man? Had she heard, by any mischance, that impertinent phrase by which I designated her? Had Mrs. Keats herself resented the cool style of my permission by a counter-order? “I wish I knew what detains her!” cried I to myself, just as I heard her step on the gravel, and then saw her coming, in very leisurely fashion, up the walk.
Determined to display an indifference the equal of her own, I waited till she was almost close; and then, rising languidly, I offered her a chair with a superb air of Brummelism, while I listlessly said, “Won't you take a seat?”
It was growing duskish, but I fancied I saw a smile on her lip as she sat down.
“May I offer you a glass of wine or a cigar?” said I, carelessly.
“Neither, thank you,” said she, with gravity.
“Almost all women of fashion smoke nowadays,” I resumed. “The Empress of the French smokes this sort of thing here; and the Queen of Bavaria smokes and chews.”