"Shall be given three laps and a fly-away start in the Wooing Handicap," the Marquis continued.
"'Od—'Od's my life!" ejaculated Sir Benjamin indignantly, "We're not in the stables now, Alton! Suffer me to explain clearly——"
"But—wooing handicap?" repeated Betty, wrinkling her brows in puzzlement.
"Matrimonial Stakes, then," continued the irrepressible Marquis. "You see, Bet, we are all riding in this race for you and it has been ruled that——"
"My lady," sighed the soulful Sir Jasper, "it hath been agreed that whoso indites the worthiest screed to your beauty, he whose poor verses shall be judged most worthy shall be awarded three clear days wherein to plead his suit with thee, to humbly sigh, to sue, to——"
"A clear field and no favour, my lady!" the Marquis added.
"And," sighed Sir Jasper, "thrice happy mortal he who shall be privileged to call thee 'wife'!"
"Indeed, indeed," laughed my lady, "'tis vastly, excellently quaint——"
"My idea!" said the Captain, shooting his ruffles. "Came to me—in a moment—like a flash!"
"Though truly," she sighed, "I do begin to think I ne'er shall wed and be doomed to lead apes in hell as they say—unless for a penance I marry Mr. Dalroyd or—Major d'Arcy! But come," she continued, smiling down their many protests and rising, "let us into the garden, 'tis shady on the lawn, we'll act a charade! Sir Jasper, your hand, pray." Thereupon, with a prodigious fluttering of lace ruffles, the flash of jewelled sword-hilts and shoe-buckles, the sheen of rich satins and velvets, the gallant company escorted my lady into the garden and across the smooth lawn.