“You had better not let Mr Charles Selwyn hear you say so, under all circumstances, or I think that very likely the whipping we were talking about in fun yesterday, will become real cara mia!”
“Nonsense! for shame, you mischievous thing!” said Caroline, blushing a little, but not painfully.
“Who is this Colonel Jervis?” asked the Count de Chavannes. “I was a little puzzled, or rather not a little: for at first none of you seemed to know him; and, after a little while, you all appeared to know him quite well. Pray explain the mystery.”
“He is a very gentlemanly person, Count, as Mrs Selwyn justly observes, and, as you can perceive, a very handsome man. Further than that, he was Colonel of one of his Majesty’s crack regiments, as they call them, and is now on half-pay. He is, moreover, a man of high fashion, and of the first standing in society. And, last of all, which is the secret of the whole, he is the husband of a very charming little Frenchwoman, a particular friend of Caroline’s and mine, one of the prettiest and nicest persons on earth, with whom he ran away some six months since, fancying her to be—”
“Valerie!” exclaimed Caroline, blushing fiery red.
“Caroline!” replied I, quietly.
“What were you going to say?”
“Fancying her to be a very great heiress,” I continued; “but finding her to be a far better thing, a delightful, beautiful, and excellent wife.”
“Happy man!” said de Chavannes, with a half sigh.
“Why do you say so, Count?”