Upon which he commented, ‘Every woman is ravishing at forty paces, and still more so in imagination.’
‘Beautiful auburn hair, and a dazzling red and white complexion, set in a blue coif.’
‘Her eyes?’
‘Melting blue.’
‘‘Tis an English witch!’ exclaimed the beau, and he compassionately invoked her absent lord.
Chloe’s optics were no longer tasked to discern the fair lady’s lineaments, for the chariot windows came flush with those of the beau on the broad plateau of the hill. His coach door was opened. He sat upright, levelling his privileged stare at Duchess Susan until she blushed.
‘Ay, madam,’ quoth he, ‘I am not the first.’
‘La, sir!’ said she; ‘who are you?’
The beau deliberately raised his hat and bowed. ‘He, madam, of whose approach the gentleman who took his leave of you on yonder elevation informed you.’
She looked artlessly over her shoulder, and at the beau alighting from his carriage. ‘A gentleman?’