‘Oh, Mr. Beamish, I shall expire.’
‘I forbid it in my lifetime, Chloe, for I wish to die believing in one woman.’
‘No flattery for me at the expense of my sisters!’
‘Then fly to a hermitage; for all flattery is at somebody’s expense, child. ‘Tis an essence-extract of humanity! To live on it, in the fashion of some people, is bad—it is downright cannibal. But we may sprinkle our handkerchiefs with it, and we should, if we would caress our noses with an air. Society, my Chloe, is a recommencement upon an upper level of the savage system; we must have our sacrifices. As, for instance, what say you of myself beside our booted bumpkin squires?’
‘Hundreds of them, Mr. Beamish!’
‘That is a holocaust of squires reduced to make an incense for me, though you have not performed Druid rites and packed them in gigantic osier ribs. Be philosophical, but accept your personal dues. Grant us ours too. I have a serious intention to preserve this young duchess, and I expect my task to be severe. I carry the banner aforesaid; verily and penitentially I do. It is an error of the vulgar to suppose that all is dragon in the dragon’s jaws.’
‘Men are his fangs and claws.’
‘Ay, but the passion for his fiery breath is in woman. She will take her leap and have her jump, will and will! And at the point where she will and she won’t, the dragon gulps and down she goes! However, the business is to keep our buttercup duchess from that same point. Is she near?’
‘I can see her,’ said Chloe.
Beau Beamish requested a sketch of her, and Chloe began: ‘She is ravishing.’