Lady Waverton, who was again at full length on her couch, then opened her eyes. "Delicious, delicately delicious," she sighed. "Why did you stop, dear?" she controlled a yawn. "Oh, the men! Odious creatures!" she rose on her elbow and looked at them, and looked down at her dress and patted it.
Colonel Boyce accepted the challenge briskly, and marched upon her.
"Egad, my lady, your name is cruelty."
"Who—I, sir? I vow I never had the heart to see any creature suffer."
"Nay, your very nature is cruelty. You exist but to torture us."
"Good lack, sir," says my lady, well pleased, "and must I die to serve your pleasure?"
"Why, there it is. We can neither bear to be with you nor to be without you. I protest, ma'am, your sex was made for our torture. 'Tis why you parade it and delight in it."
"Lud, sir, you are mighty rude," my lady simpered. "I parade my sex?
Alack, my modesty!"
"Modesty—that's but another weapon to madden us. Fie, ma'am, why do you clothe yourself in such beauty but to flaunt upon our senses that sex of yours?" My lady was duly shocked and hid behind her fan. "Aye, there it is! We catch a whiff of paradise and straightway it is denied us. Our nightingale there is silent when we draw near. Our Venus here hides herself when our eyes would enjoy her. As His Grace said to me, you women are like heaven to a damned soul."
"You are a wicked fellow," said Lady Waverton with relish.
Geoffrey at his elbow put in, "'His Grace,' Colonel?"