“Perhaps. In that case he must have been a handsome scamp, a sort of Colonel Richardson,” he hazarded, watching her.
“You should not take it for granted that all women like scamps.”
“All women seem to like Colonel Richardson.”
“Well, he is nice! He knows just how to treat them, to be interesting and amusing without making love to them.”
“Oh, I beg your pardon! I should not have been so rash as to sneer at him if I had known he was so lucky as to have such a strong advocate in you,” said Aubrey, out of temper.
“Advocate? What nonsense! He has plenty without me.”
“That is why I am surprised to find you worshiping at such a general shrine.”
“Worshiping! Really, Mr. Cooke, you are quite rude.”
“I did not mean to be, I assure you. I only envy him his luck.”
And Aubrey stalked off over the old tombstones and began digging out bits of moss from a wall with the end of his cane, too angry to trust himself to say any more.