"Hum!" said the Major thoughtfully, "a needle is a sharp engine and apt to prick one occasionally 'tis true, and yet a man may prefer it to a woman."
"And you," she exclaimed, drooping disdainful lashes, "you—are a—soldier!"
"I was!" he answered.
"Soldiers are gallant, they say."
"They are kind!" bowed the Major.
"You are, I think, the poor, old, wounded soldier Major d'Arcy who lives at the Manor yonder?" she questioned.
"I am that shattered wreck, madam, and what remains of me is very humbly at your service!" and setting hand to bosom of war-worn coat he bowed with a prodigious flourish.
"And you have never been so extreme fortunate as to behold my Lady Elizabeth Carlyon?"
"Hum!" said the Major, pondering, "what like is she?"
At this slender hands clasped each other, dark eyes upturned themselves to translucent heaven and rounded bosom heaved ecstatic: