“Dearest my aunt,” quoth she, “when thou’rt happily espoused, forget not ’twas thy loving niece——”
“Tush, minx—begone!”
Herminia went; but scarcely had her stately form vanished within the narrow doorway than the Duchess stealthily arose, caught up her sun-bonnet and, opening the wicket gate in the garden wall, hasted away down the leafy back-lane.
III
Sir John was observing his resplendent image in the mirror; full-skirted, embroidered coat moulded his graceful slenderness to perfection; his gold-buttoned, flowered waistcoat was a work of art, white satin small-clothes and gold-clocked silk stockings offset a pair of shapely legs; diamonds sparkled in shoe-buckles and cravat; the long, glossy curls of his peruke fell in that precise abandon which was strictly à la mode; and yet his delicate brows were wrinkled in disapprobation.
“They feel distinctly tightish, Bob!” he mourned. “I’ve grown damnably robust and positively bucolic—horrific thought! Gad’s my life, I’m as swarthy as a gipsy! Alack, Bob, where is now my romantic pallor? How the devil may a man languish soulfully with a colour like a yokelly ploughman? Vastly distressing, on my soul it is!”
“A patch, sir?” suggested the imperturbable one.
“Two, Bob, one at my mouth—exactly here! Now t’other below my eye—so! Now a dash o’ the gillyflower essence ... and now my lightest cloak to veil me from the curious.”