"Gracious heaven!" ejaculated Lady Belinda, sitting up suddenly, "I do verily believe you're in love with him!"
"In love with—him! I?" cried Lady Betty, "I in love with——" she gasped and stopped suddenly, staring down at the torn paper at her feet and, as she stared, her lashes drooped and up over creamy chin from rounded throat to glossy hair crept a wave of vivid colour.
"O Betty," wailed her aunt, "Betty, is it true—is it love or are you only taken with his—his medieval airs?"
"Aunt Belinda," said Betty, turning her back and staring out through the open lattice, "there are times when I wonder I don't—bite you!"
"He's so much your elder, Betty!"
"And so much my younger, aunt—in some ways, he's a very child! But suppose I do marry him, what then, aunt?"
"Marry him! Heaven above—marry Major d'Arcy? Betty, are you mad? You so young and giddy, he so—so mature and grave——"
"You never saw him climb a wall, aunt!"
"Old enough to be your father, girl! So very sober and reserved! So very serious and quiet——"
"You haven't seen him in his plum-coloured velvet, aunt!"