"And now prithee my basket—'twould never suit so fine a gentleman." The Major flushed, seeing which she added: "Though indeed I do like you infinitely so."
"And I," said he impulsively, his keen, bright glance appraising her from head to foot, "I find you infinitely more—more—er—womanly as 'twere—but pray why so large a basket?"
"To carry eggs, sir, and butter and such. Some of your tenants are miserably poor, Major John."
"Hum!" said he, thoughtfully. "And you buy them butter——"
"I make them butter, sir."
"Ha—do you, by Jove!" he exclaimed, his eyes shining.
"I make them butter with the aid of certain polite, perspiring, and I greatly fear, profane gentlemen." The Major's smooth brow grew ruffled.
"Meaning whom, mam?"
"Well, to-day 'twas Sir Benjamin Tripp, the Marquis, Sir Jasper Denholm and Mr. Marchdale. To see Sir Benjamin churning is—O 'tis rare, 'tis killing!" And my lady stood still the better to laugh.
"Sir Benjamin Tripp—churning?" exclaimed the Major.