"So hot—so scant o' breath!" she gurgled. "And his ruffles flip-flopping and his fine peruke all askew. To-morrow 'twill be Lord Alvaston and Captain West and—O 'twill be pure!" and once again she trilled with laughter until, beholding the Major's expression, she stopped breathless and wiping her eyes on the back of slender hand like any rustic lass. "Doth it not strike you as comical?" she demanded.
"O vastly!" said he, and sighed.
"If you had but seen Sir Benjamin, poor, dear, good creature—he did so blow and pant!"
"Extreme diverting!" admitted the Major and sighed again.
"And pray, Major d'Arcy, do you always utter deep-fetched and doleful breathings when amused? Smile, sir, this instant!" The Major obeyed, whereupon she shook critical head: "'Twas much like a grimace caused by an extreme anguish, but 'twill serve for one so preternaturally grave as Major d'Arcy."
"Do I seem so grave, indeed?" he questioned wistfully.
"As the tomb, sir!" The Major blinked: walked a dozen yards or so in silence and sighed deeper than ever, strove to disguise it in a cough and failing, stood rueful. My lady stopped and faced him:
"Major John—Major d'Arcy, sir, look at me. Now prithee why all this windy woe, this sighful sorrow—what evil thought harrows your lofty serenity to-day?"
"I think," said he, hands tight-clenched upon his cane, "I am haunted by a certain evening in the Mall!"
"O? Indeed? The Mall?"