“Then it is very wicked of them,” exclaimed Thekla, “when the Marquis of Rotherwood himself said that Hubert Delrio is a very superior young man” (each syllable triumphantly rounded off).
Primrose was equal to the occasion. “Oh, they all laugh at Cousin Rotherwood; and, besides, a superior young man does not mean a gentleman.”
Thekla burst into angry tears and sobs, which brought Gillian, and a grave, dark young lady from the other side of a rock to inquire what was the matter—there was a confession on the two tongues of “she did,” and “I didn’t” of “painter cad, superior young man and no gentleman,” but at last it cleared itself into Primrose allowing that, to take down Thekla’s conceit, she had declared that a very superior young man did not mean a gentleman.
“I could not have believed that you could have been so abominably ill-mannered,” said Gillian gravely; “you ought to apologise to Thekla.”
“Oh, never mind,” began Thekla ashamed; and at that moment a frantic barking was heard in the depths, and Valetta, Wilfred, Fergus and a dog or two darted headlong past, calling out, “Hedgehogs, hedgehogs! Run! come!” And Primrose, giving a hand to Thekla, joined in the general rush down the glade.
“A situation relieved!” said the newcomer.
“For all ran to see,
For they took him to be
An Egyptian porcupig,”
quoted Gillian. “They have wanted such a beast for some time for their menagerie; but really Primrose is getting much too old to indulge in such babyish incivility to a guest, true though the speech was, ‘a superior young man,’ not necessarily a gentleman.”
“I am colonial enough to like him the better for the absence of a hall mark.”
“Should you have missed it? He is very good looking, and has a sensible refined countenance, poor man!”