Lady Betty was fanning herself vigorously—always a sign of a coming storm; and Sir Maxwell Danby was leaning back in an armchair, toying with his snuff-box and the trifles hanging to his watch-chain. The ruffles on his coat were of the most costly lace, and so was the edge of the long cravat, which, however, was peppered with the snuff he was continually using.
There was a gleam of something very much the reverse of kindly intention in his little deep-set eyes, and cunning and malice were making curves round his thin lips, though, on Griselda's entrance, a smile, which was meant to be fascinating, parted them; and, rising in reply to her curtsey at the threshold of the door, he bowed low, advanced to her, and, offering his hand, said:
"May I beg leave to hand you to a chair?"
Then, as Griselda drew her hand away and turned on him a look of disgust, Lady Betty almost screamed out:
"What do you mean by flouncing like that, miss? Sit down at once, and hear of the honour this gentleman proposes to do you. He offers you what you little deserve."
"Nay—nay, my lady," Sir Maxwell began; "that is impossible for any man to offer. A diadem laid at this fair lady's feet would be all too little for her deserts. But may I venture to address a few words to your fair ward? and then I will take my leave, and await with anxiety a reply—say, to-morrow at this time. I would not hasten her. Madam," he began, with his hand on his heart—"madam, I pray you to listen to my poor words; and, as you listen, believe that they come from one weary of the hollow insincerities of a gay world, and longing to rest itself on something real and steadfast. I see in you the perfection of womanhood. I adore you; and Lady Betty favours my suit. I can offer you a position—a social rank—not to be lightly esteemed. Danby Hall is my ancestral home, and thither I crave leave to convey you, ere many months have passed, as its beautiful mistress, and——"
"Sir," Griselda interrupted, as this suitor bent on one knee, with due care not to cause a rupture between the silk stockings which met his knee-breeches by too sudden a genuflexion—"sir, I must beg you to desist. Surely, Aunt Betty, you have not encouraged this gentleman to pursue a suit which is distasteful to me?"
Then, as Lady Betty began to raise her voice, Griselda turned to Sir Maxwell, who was finding his position uneasy, for his joints were not as supple as they had been twenty years before:
"Sir Maxwell Danby," she said, her voice trembling, in spite of every effort she made to control it, "I thank you for the honour you do me, but I decline to accept the proposal you make me."
"She only means to put you off, Sir Maxwell; she will think better of it—she shall think better of it."