"And is she so beautiful as they say?"
"She is the handsomest woman in London, one of your black-browed, deep-eyed goddesses, tall, and gracious, and most nobly shaped; though, sir, for my own part, I prefer less fire and ice—and more gentle beauty."
"As, for instance, the Lady Helen Dunstan?" said I.
"Exactly!" nodded Mr. Beverley.
"Referring to the Lady Sophia Sefton," I pursued, "she is a reigning toast, I believe?"
"Gad, yes! her worshippers are legion, and chief among them his Royal
Highness, and your cousin, Sir Maurice, who has actually had the
temerity to enter the field as the Prince's avowed rival; no one but
'Buck' Vibart could be so madly rash!"
"A most fortunate lady!" said I.
"Mr. Vibart!" exclaimed my companion, cocking his battered hat and regarding me with a smouldering eye, "Mr. Vibart, I object to your tone; the noble Sefton's virtue is proud and high, and above even the breath of suspicion."
"And yet my cousin would seem to be no laggard in love, and as to the
Prince—his glance is contamination to a woman."
"Sir," returned Mr. Beverley very earnestly, "disabuse your mind of all unworthy suspicions, I beg; your cousin she laughs to scorn, and his Royal Highness she had rebuffed as few women have, hitherto, dared do."