I bowed, and Margaret said staidly, "Yes, my lady. This is Master Oliver Wheatman of the Hanyards. Oliver, I have the privilege of introducing you to the Lady Ogilvie."
I bent in the middle again and gabbled something. It was suitable to the occasion, I hope.
Lady Ogilvie eyed me up and down carefully, much as I should overlook a bullock I had a mind to buy.
"When Davie left me at Macclesfield I told him I'd be guid, and I will be guid, but I wish he hadn't asked me," she said. "Never mind! At Derby, when we meet again, my promise will be lapsed, and I shall flirt with you, sir, most furiously."
"Really, my lady," I replied, "my knowledge of the art of flirtation is merely rudimentary, but I always understood that it required two."
"Naturally," she retorted, "that's its great charm."
"I see my mistake now," said I, as if thoughtfully. Margaret sat with her needle poised for a stitch, and waited.
"You're learning already, you see! What is it?" said Lady Ogilvie.
"One and a bit would suffice when your ladyship was the one," I said boldly.
Margaret laughed and resumed the swift play of her needle.