“Why, get in and drive away, sure!”
“But where to, mem?”
“Towards Paris, silly wench—or anywhere you choose——”
“And you, madam? You will come along o’ me?”
“Perchance I may and perchance not. Mayhap I shall run away—disappear at the last moment—I’m not decided on this yet——”
“O my dear lady——”
“If I should think fit to run away, you will drive as far as St. Pol, then turn back to Dieppe, where you shall probably find me at the ‘Eperon d’Or’—Giles knows it——”
“But, my lady—O mem—what o’ yourself?”
“So long as I am myself I shall be safe, child. I’ll play my part, do you play yours! Remember, should you meet the gentlemen below, swim in your walk, tilt your chin, say nothing—and stare. Stare above ’em, below ’em and through ’em, but never at ’em. And now I’ll go order supper—in private, for thy sake, Bet. Lud, but I’m famished!” And a-down the creaking stair tripped my Lady Herminia Barrasdaile, as dainty a waiting-maid as ever was or ever will be.
Then it chanced that Sir John, rolling his eyes in the throes of poetical composition, suddenly beheld her standing radiant in the doorway, all fresh, shapely young womanhood from ribbanded cap to trim shoe; and struck by her air of modesty and all the shy-sweet beauty of her, he sighed, closed his tablets and slipped them into his pocket.