“Aye, over the wall.”
“John,” exclaimed Sir Hector, rising and drawing himself to his gigantic height, “I may, peradventure, have ... chanced to cast a—a neighbourly glance over the party-wall occasionally, but—peep, sir? I scorn the imputation!”
“But i’ faith, Hector, I vow she is well worth peeping at.”
“Sir,” quoth Sir Hector, reaching hat and cane—“sir, a MacLean never peeps!” Having said which, he clapped on his hat and stalked majestically away.
II
“Heavens, Herminia, how can you?”
“What, aunt dear?”
“Sprawl there like any naughty nymph ... and your petticoats ... so careless and bold ... showing the prideful perfection o’ your proportions, the fullness o’ your forms ... like a graceless Greek goddess on a vase ... so free! Get up, child, do!”
Herminia laughed and, pillowing head on clasped hands, stretched shapely limbs voluptuously upon her grassy couch and stared up dreamily through the leaves of the apple tree to the cloudless blue.