"'Tis a pert and naughty puss!" exclaimed Lady Belinda, studying the Major's downcast face, "Indeed a graceless, heartless piece, sir!"
"Er—yes, mam," he answered abstractedly.
"A very wicked and irreverent baggage, Major!"
"Certainly, mam."
"Indeed, dear sir, what with her airy graces and her graceless airs I do shudder for her future, my very soul positively—shivers!"
"Shiver, mam?" enquired the Major, starting. "Shiver? Why 'tis very warm, I think——"
"Nay, this was an inward shiver, sir, a spasmic shudder o' the soul! Indeed she doeth me constant outrage."
"Who, mam?"
"Why Betty, for sure." Here the Major sighed again, his wistful gaze wandered back to the open lattice and he fell to deep and melancholy reverie the while Lady Belinda observed him sharp-eyed, his face leanly handsome framed in the glossy curls of his great peruke, the exquisite cut of his rich garments and the slender grace of the powerful figure they covered, his high-bred air, his grave serenity mingled with a shy reserve; finally she spoke:
"Major d'Arcy, your arm pray—let us go sit out upon the terrace."