The poor creature took it for a compliment. He leered at her: "But you are exquisite, my Indamora."
"Who?"
"It's an amorous lady in a play," Sir George explained. "Pretty creature," he patted Alison's arm, and leaned upon her to kiss her neck.
She was so surprised that his lips had almost time to reach her. "Lord, sir, are you mad?" she cried, as she thrust him off.
"Pretty creature," Sir George giggled, and clung to her.
"Your carriage is at the door, Sir George." Harry stood over them. His face was as much a mask as ever, his voice placid.
Alison started up and stood to face him with a lowering brow. He did not appear to see her. Sir George shook down his ruffles. "Carriage? What d'ye mean?" says he. "I ha' had no carriage this year. I came in a hackney coach."
Harry turned away from him and opened the door.
"Eh? Oh, stap me!" Sir George giggled and got on to his feet, "Madame, your eternally devoted." He went out with a strut, waving his scented handkerchief in the direction of Harry.
Then Alison spoke. Her eyes were furious. "You—oh, you boor! How dare you?"