"Perhaps not, ma'am. But perhaps I don't want to make love to your purse."
"Od burn it, sir, am I nothing but a purse?"
"I leave it to your husband to find out, ma'am, and beg leave to take my leave. My kind father offers me occupation at a distance, and I embrace it ardently. Who knows? It may provide me with a coat."
"You are going away?"
"I have had the honour to say so."
"And why, if you please?"
Harry shrugged. "Because, ma'am, without my assistance, Mr. Waverton can very well translate Horace into his own sublime verse and Miss Lambourne into his own proud wife."
He intended her to rage. What she did was to say softly: "You do not want to see me that?"
"I have no ambition to amuse you, ma'am." Miss Lambourne looked sideways. "What if I don't want you to go away?"
"Egad, ma'am, I know you don't." Harry laughed. "You amuse yourself vastly (God knows why) with baiting me."