"But—split me! Why rhubarb?" demanded the Captain, "Why endeavour t' poison poor Ben? O burn me!"
"'Twas a woman's notion," explained Sir Jasper, "a whim, a fancy. The whole sex, dear creatures, be full of 'em, 'tis what makes 'em so infinite captivating——"
"Not," enquired the Captain, "not rhubarb——"
"No, no—'tis the mystery of 'em—the wonder of their changing moods that makes women so alluring and Bet the most bewitching of 'em all. By Venus, she's elusive as a sunbeam, mysterious as fate, changeable as——"
"Begad," exclaimed the Marquis, "and that's the dem'd truth—that's Betty to a T and that's how I'm coming continual croppers—if she were only a little more like a horse or a dog I should know what to expect and how to treat her——"
"I suggest—precisely the same," smiled Mr. Dalroyd, "and horses one spurs and dogs one whips and my lady would be better for a little of both. Women should be managed, they expect it and they love the strong hand!"
Sir Benjamin gaped, the Captain stared, Sir Jasper rolled his eyes and Mr. Marchdale, furrowing youthful brow, spoke:
"As a man of the world I vow there's wisdom in't. The lovely creatures look for strength in a man—mastery, d'ye see, though a whip——"
"Od sir," ejaculated Sir Benjamin, "'tis rank heresy!"
"Pure savagery!" gasped Sir Jasper.