She dropped her voice: "Engage my fair friend for one of your walks the moment we rise from table. You may have to rescue her; but do. I mean it."
"She's a capital walker." Vernon remarked in simpleton style.
"There's no necessity for any of your pedestrian feats," Mrs Mountstuart said, and let him go, turning to Colonel De Craye to pronounce an encomium on him: "The most open-minded man I know! Warranted to do perpetual service, and no mischief. If you were all . . . instead of catching at every prize you covet! Yes, you would have your reward for unselfishness, I assure you. Yes, and where you seek it! That is what none of you men will believe."
"When you behold me in your own livery!" cried the colonel.
"Do I?" said she, dallying with a half-formed design to be confidential. "How is it one is always tempted to address you in the language of innuendo? I can't guess."
"Except that as a dog doesn't comprehend good English we naturally talk bad to him."
The great lady was tickled. Who could help being amused by this man? And after all, if her fair Middleton chose to be a fool there could be no gainsaying her, sorry though poor Sir Willoughby's friends must feel for him.
She tried not to smile.
"You are too absurd. Or a baby, you might have added."
"I hadn't the daring."