“Even so, madam!” he answered, rising to bow.
“Heaven preserve us!” she exclaimed. “Do you dare put the onus of your own misdemeanours upon Fate?”
“Nay, then,” he answered, “let us call it Fortune, madame, since Fortune is—feminine, and esteemed ever a fickle jade!”
“So, sir, having contrived yourself an evil notoriety, you would turn cynic and rail upon Fate, it seems!”
“Nay, madam, cursed by cruel Fortune, I am become a Man o’ Sentiment and find in simple things the great and good content: the carolling bird, the springing flower, the rippling brook, these have charms the which——”
“Tush, sir, you grow lyrical, which becometh you most vilely.”
“Fie, Herminia!” cried the Duchess. “Hold thy teasing tongue, miss. Sir John is right, indeed—I myself love to hear the carolling brook—I mean the rippling bird—— There, see how you ha’ fluttered me! Sit down, Herminia—do! And you, Sir John! Be seated—both o’ you, instead of standing to stare on each other like—like two fond fools foolishly fond! So! Now, surely, Sir John, a man’s reputation is his own, to make or mar?”
“Nay, ’faith, your Grace, doth not a man’s reputation make or mar him, rather? And whence cometh reputation but of our friends and enemies who judge us accordingly. So the world knows us but as they report. Thus, he or she that would be held immaculate should consort solely with dogs or horses that ha’ not the curse of speech.”
Here my lady sighed wearily and began to tap with impatient foot.
“Herminia, hush!” exclaimed the Duchess. “Hush and flap not fidgeting foot, miss. How think you of Sir John’s argument?”