"La, dear aunt," said my lady, "how warm you look, so red—so flushed and fulsome!"
"'Tis the sun—the sun!" cried Lady Belinda, "I vow I cannot abide the sun, it nauseates me!"
"Then let us into the shade, mam," said the Major, offering his arm. "'Twill be cool on the terrace, a—er—a dish of tea——"
"Nay, nay, sir, alack and no, we have neighbours expected. Sir Oliver and Lady Rington, Mrs. Wadhurst, and Lady Lydia Flyte—and that minds me, naughty Bet, you were to have gone a-riding to-day with Mr. Dalroyd and Sir Jasper—they called expectant and you were not! Then came poor young Mr. Marchdale, in a great taking, to know if you'd object to his rhyming 'Bet' with 'sweat!' The Captain called, too, with dear Sir Benjamin Tripp—so modish—so elegant! But solemn as two owls, though why owls should be solemn I don't know never having seen one near enough! So you see, dear Major, we positively must away!"
The Major, having escorted them to his park gates, stood to watch that slender, shapely form out of sight, then, sighing, limped slowly housewards lost in happy dreams. As he went he remembered with an odd relief that the Viscount was in London and would remain there several days. Presently he came upon the Sergeant who bore a rake "at the trail" much as if it had been a pike: and the Sergeant's face was beaming and his bright eye almost roguish:
"Ha, Zeb," said the Major, halting to view him over, and his own eyes were shining also, "why Zeb, how deuced smart you look!"
"My best clothes, sir, new ones being on order as commanded, sir."
"Aye, but 'tis not your clothes exactly, you seem—younger, somehow."
"Why, sir," said the Sergeant, a little diffidently, "I took the liberty o' powdering my wig,—no objections I hope, your honour?"
"None at all Zeb, no, no! Egad, 'tis like old times!" So saying, the Major smiled and passed on to the house, whistling softly as he went.