"After a winter in the south of France, one does not find arctic weather like this easy to bear," he said, with a disgusted air.
"I like it, and do my five or six miles a day, which keeps me in what fine ladies call 'rude health,'" answered Belle, walking him on at a pace which soon made his furs a burden.
She was a famous pedestrian, and a little proud of her-powers; but she outdid all former feats that day, and got over the ground in gallant style. Something in her manner put her escort on his mettle; and his usual lounge was turned into a brisk march, which set his blood dancing, face glowing, and spirits effervescing as they had not done for many a day.
"There! you look more like your real self now," said Belle, with the first sign of approval she had ever vouch-safed him, as he rejoined her after a race to recover her veil, which the wind whisked away over hedge and ditch.
"Are you sure you know what my real self is?" he asked, with a touch of the "conquering hero" air.
"Not a doubt of it. I always know a soldier when I see one," returned Belle, decidedly.
"A soldier! that's the last thing I should expect to be accused of," and Lennox looked both surprised and gratified.
"There's a flash in your eye and a ring to your voice, occasionally, which made me suspect that you had fire and energy enough if you only chose to show it, and the spirit with which you have just executed the 'Morgan Quickstep' proves that I was right," returned Belle, laughing.
"Then I am not altogether a 'peacock'?" said Lennox, significantly, for during the chat, which had been as brisk as the walk, Belle had given his besetting sins several sly hits, and he couldn't resist one return shot, much as her unexpected compliment pleased him.
Poor Belle blushed up to her forehead, tried to look as if she did not understand, and gladly hid her confusion behind the recovered veil without a word.