Blanche wondered if all Spanish ladies were addressed as “your Grace.” (Note 1.) How delightful! She held out her hand like a queen, and Don Juan paid his homage.
“Your Grace see me much happinessed. When I am again in my Andalusia, I count it the gloriousest hour of my life that I see your sweet country and the beautifullest of his ladies.”
How far either Don Juan or Blanche might ultimately have gone in making themselves ridiculous cannot be stated, because at this moment Margaret—prosaic, literal Margaret—appeared on the terrace.
“Blanche! Aunt Rachel seeketh thee.—Your servant, Master! I trust you are now well amended?”
Don Juan was a very quick reader of character. He instantly realised the difference between the sisters, and replied to Margaret’s inquiry in a calm matter-of-fact style. Blanche moved slowly away. She felt as if she were leaving the sunshine behind her.
“Well, of all the lazy jades!” was Rachel’s deserved greeting. “Three rows and an half, betwixt twelve of the clock and four! Why, ’tis not a full row for the hour! Child, art thou ’shamed of thyself?”
“Well, just middling, Aunt Rachel,” said Blanche, pouting a little.
“Blanche,” returned her Aunt very gravely, “I do sorely pity thine husband—when such a silly thing may win one—without he spend an hundred pound by the day, and keep a pack of serving-maids a-louting at thy heels.”
“I hope he may, Aunt Rachel,” said Blanche coolly.
“Eh, child, child!” And Rachel’s head was ominously shaken.