“Speak to me, Louisa dear. Who is it? Is it Mr. Wellesley Pole? Is it——”
I did not wait for a further supposition, but in a most insinuating voice, added,
“Mr. Hinton, my lady, extra aide-de-camp on his Excellency's staff. The Duchess feared you would be nervous, and hopes you'll get as close to her as possible.”
“Where's Paul?” said the lady, once more recovering her animation. “If this is a hoax, young gentleman——”
“Madam,” said I, bowing stiffly, “I am really at a loss to understand your meaning.”
“Oh, forgive me, Mr. Hilton.”
“Hinton, my Lady.”
“Yes, Hinton,” said she. “I am a beast to mistrust you, and you so young and so artless; the sweetest blue eyes I ever looked at.”
This was said in a whisper to her young friend, whose mirth now threatened to burst forth.
“And was it really his Royal Highness that sent you?”