“If you think this a favor, I wonder you have courage to ask it. Come, you need not look cross, Master Tony, particularly as all the fault is on your own side. Come over to Tilney the day after to-morrow with your friend.”
“But I don't know Mrs. Maxwell.”
“That does not signify in the least; do what I bid you. I am as much mistress there as she is while I stay. Come early. I shall be quite alone, for Mark goes to-morrow to town, and Bella will scarcely be well enough to see you.”
“And you'll not let me introduce him now?”
“No; I shall look more like my picture in a house dress; and perhaps—though I 'll not promise—be in a better temper too. Good-bye.”
“Won't you shake hands with me, Alice?”
“No; it's too cold to take my hand out of my muff. Remember, now, Saturday morning, without fail.”
“Alice!” said he, with a look at once devoted and reproachful.
“Tony!” said she, imitating his tone of voice to perfection, “there's your friend getting impatient. Good-bye.”
As the spanking team whirled past, Skeffy had but a second or two to catch a glance at the veiled and muffled figure that reclined so voluptuously in the corner of the carriage; but he was ready to declare that she had the most beautiful eyes in the world, and “knew what to do with them besides.” “You 're in love with her, Tony,” cried he, fixing a steadfast stare on the pale and agitated features at his side. “I see it, old fellow! I know every shade and tint of that blessed thing they miscall the tender passion. Make me no confessions; I don't want them. Your heart is at her feet, and she treats it like a football.”