"Which Bel has! What a beautiful blush!"
And Philippa claps her hands.
Jacques tries very hard not to color, thus forfeiting all his pretensions to the character of a self-possessed man of the world and elegant coxcomb; but this is equally forlorn with his attempt not to observe the mischievous glance and satirical lip of the fair Philippa.
He seeks in vain for a word—a jest—a reply.
Fortune favors him. A maid from the house approaches Philippa, and says:
"Mr. Mowbray, ma'am."
A blush, deeper than that upon the face of Jacques, mantles Philippa's cheeks as she replies:
"Say I am coming."
"Before you go," says Jacques with odious triumph, "permit me to say, Madam Philippa, that I begin to see some of the advantages you might enjoy were you a man."
"What are they, pray—more than I have mentioned?" she says coolly.