"Your—er—pardon madam," he answered a little diffidently, "I was but now thinking of taking—er—my departure——"
"Go sir—O no sir! Tut Major and fie! What would Betty think of your so sudden desertion? Besides, I feel talkative—let us sit and tattle awhile, let us conspire together to the future good of my naughty niece and your wild nephew—Pancras. Though, by the way, sir, I didn't know Pancras had an uncle."
"Nor has he, mam," answered the Major, escorting her out upon the terrace and sitting down rather unwillingly, "I am but his uncle by—er—adoption, as 'twere."
"Adoption, sir?"
"He adopted me years ago—he was but a child then, d'ye see, and something solitary."
"Mm!" said Lady Belinda thoughtfully, viewing the Major's courtly figure again, "Indeed you are looking vastly well to-day, sir—grey is such an angelic tint—so spiritual! And young—I protest you look as young as Pancras himself!" The Major flushed and shifted uneasily on his seat. "And pray why doth Pancras tarry so long in London?"
"He writes that he is stayed by affairs of moment, mam."
"Then I vow 'tis most provoking in him! Here are you and I both a-burning to marry him to Bet—aren't we, dear Major?"
"Why as to that, mam—er—ah——" The Major grew muffled and incoherent.
"And here's Betty so carelessly rampageous—so, so lost to all sense of feminine weakness, alack!"