So thought the Major as he watched the approach of this rustic lass, comparing her in her naturalness and simplicity to wood-nymphs and dryads and goddesses of groves and fountains, and altogether to the disadvantage of patched and powdered beauties in their coquettish frills and furbelows. Sighing again, he turned to go back.
"God bless your honour and, so please your honour, a humble good day to your honour!" said a voice.
The Major stopped, wheeled, and dropped his cane:
"Betty!" he exclaimed.
"John!" said she. But, meeting his look, flushed and drooped her lashes, whereupon he fell to stammering.
"I—I was but now—'Tis strange but I was——"
"Thinking of me, Major John?"
"Indeed!" he answered.
"Kindly, Major Jack?"
"Pray," he enquired, "pray—er—are you alone?"