"I mean, my poor Pancras, since when ha' you taken to spying on me?"
The Viscount's cheek flushed, then he leaned suddenly forward his hands tight-clenched:
"Betty," said he, his voice sunk almost to a whisper, "O Bet, in God's name why d'you meet a man of Dalroyd's repute—alone and at such an hour?" My lady's clear gaze never wavered and she laughed gaily:
"Dear Pancras," she cried, "your tragical airs are ill-suited to the top of a wall! Prithee come down to earth, smooth that face of care, dear creature, and let us quarrel agreeably as of yore!"
The Viscount obeyed slowly and looking a little grim:
"Look'ee Bet," said he as they trod the tiled walk together, "I have lived sufficiently long in this world to know that the mind of a woman is beyond a man's comprehension and that she herself is oft-times the sport of every idle whim——"
"'Tis a Daniel come to judgment! O excellent young man!'" she mocked. Whereat the Viscount became a little grimmer as he continued:
"Yet, because my regard for you is true and sincere, I do most humbly implore you to forego this madcap whim——"
"Whim, Viscount Merivale, my lord?"
"Aye—whim, fancy, mischief—call it what you will! 'Tis impossible you can love the fellow and not to be thought on."