“That’s very like me: but I am so liable to forget. Still, I should have sworn to the thought anywhere.”
Thus may man commit unconscious perjury. For, be it at once known that it was Candituft who, in his large benevolence, gave the stars to the poor man for his jewels: a sort of liberality Candituft was very prone to, for it in no way impoverished himself.
“You are aware, dear madam,” said Sir Arthur, a little abruptly, “that in the days of chivalry, it was the custom for ladies to be leeches. You know, when I say leeches, I don’t of course mean the nasty things in ponds, but surgeons. Then every lady-love dressed her own knight. Of course, I mean his wound.”
“To be sure; I’ve read it all very often. Yes”—and Agatha looked suddenly devoted—“in those dear olden times women fulfilled their mission, and were leeches. We shall never see those days again!”
“Suppose we try,” said Hodmadod, handing a chair to Agatha, dropping into one himself, and drawing close to the fluttered young lady, whose timid eye now and then turned to the door. “What do you think of that hand, dearest Miss Agatha?” and Sir Arthur gracefully presented his open palm.
“Oh! gracious!” cried the young lady, flinging away the anemone, clasping her hands, and looking piteous sorrow. Wherefore? The hand had been blistered; and a little wound—Miss Agatha might have covered it with a guinea, if she had had the coin and the thought about her—lay in the palm.
“Your candid opinion, sweet girl? In its present wounded state—when I say wounded, of course I mean it’s quite as good as ever—I couldn’t offer the hand to a lady?”
“Dear me!” cried Agatha, “what a question! How should I know? But how did it happen?”
“Why, you see, not used to the sort of thing, it was the hay-fork; when I say a hay-fork, I think I may venture to observe”—and here the handsome baronet looked in the glowing face of Agatha, and smiled with all his might—“the dart of Cupid.”
“Dear me!” and Agatha looked at the hurt, with evidently no thought of the figurative weapon that had caused it—“dear me! it must give you dreadful pain.”