"For whom, sir, matters not to you."
"I think it matters very much to me."
"Perhaps; but permit me to remind you, Mr. Berkeley, that I am unused to be questioned thus."
"Oh," said he, bowing low, "doocid good. I—aw—crave your pardon; but if you will not tell me your preference, Lady Louisa, shall I have the honour of telling you?"
"If you please," she replied, turning half away, and shrugging her shoulders, while her colour deepened, and her dark eyes gleamed with sudden anger.
"It is for one who is even now, perhaps, with a worthless creature, whose society he prefers to yours—haw! haw! the cast-off mistress of a brother officer!"
"It is false, sir!" she exclaimed, in an agitated voice, as she turned her flashing eyes full upon him, and drew her tall and glorious figure up like a tragedy queen; "it is false, and cannot be."
"Oh, no, it is not false, my dear madam; but unfortunately, is—aw—too true."
There was a pause, during which they regarded each other steadily.
"Why could he not dine here at eight this evening?" asked Berkeley.