"As one musket-ball to another, Master Tom."
"And she was young and beautiful, Zeb?"
"About my lady Betty's age sir, and much such another."
"Ah!" murmured the Viscount and scowled at his fist again. "Look'ee Zeb, 'tis my fancy to master that thrust, every morning when you've done with the Major you shall fence a bout or so with me, eh?"
"'Twill be joy, Master Tom."
"But, mark this Zeb, none must know of it—especially my uncle. I—I'm minded to surprise him. So not a word and——"
On the warm, sunny air rose a woman's voice rich, sonorous and clear, singing a plaintive melody. The Viscount rose, flicked a speck from velvet coat-skirts and, crossing the orchard, swung himself astride the wall. My lady Betty was gathering a posy; at the Viscount's sudden appearance she broke off her song, swept him a curtsey then, standing tall and gracious, shook white finger at him.
"Naughty lad!" said she. "Since when have you taken to philandering in country lanes after midnight?"
The Viscount actually gasped; then took out his snuff-box, fumbled with it and put it away again.
"I—I—Gad preserve me, Bet!" he stammered, "what d'ye mean?"