“No,” said Miss Milborne. The Viscount blinked at her.
“When you first knew me,” said Miss Milborne, not rancorously, but as one stating a plain truth, “you said all girls were plaguey nuisances, and you called me Foxy, because you said I had foxy-coloured hair.”
“I did?” gasped his lordship, appalled at this heresy.
“Yes, you did, Sherry; and, what is more, you locked me in the gardener’s shed, and if it had not been for Cassy Bagshot I should have been left there all day!”
“No, no!” protested his lordship feebly. “Not all day!”
“Yes, I should, because you know very well you went off to shoot pigeons with one of your father’s fowling-pieces, and never gave me another thought!”
“Lord, if I hadn’t forgotten that!” exclaimed Sherry. “Blew the hat off old Grimsby’s head too! He was as mad as fire! Devilish bad-tempered fellow, Grimsby! Went straight off to tell my father. When I think of the floggings that old man got me — Yes, and now you’ve put me in mind of it, Bella, how the deuce should I be giving you a thought with Father leading me off by the ear, and making me too curst sore to think of anything? Be reasonable, my dear girl, be reasonable!”
“It doesn’t signify in the least,” responded Miss Milborne. “But when you say that you have been dangling at my shoestrings ever since you first saw me, it is the greatest untruth ever I heard!”
“At all events, I liked you better than any other girl I knew!” said the Viscount desperately.
Miss Milborne regarded him in a reminiscent way which he found singularly unnerving. “No, I don’t think you did,” she said at last. “In fact, if you had a preference, I think it was for Hero Wantage.”