“Pooh, pooh, girl, you would love a milksop!” said Lady Betty petulantly; “he has the very eye and front of a soldier. I’ll wager he is some gallant who can strike a good blow for his sweetheart. What fun would there be in life without a harmless jest? He took me for a waiting-woman.”
“That he did not!” cried Alice, “he knew you, take my word for it, and he would have kissed you, the daring wretch!”
The handmaid shuddered at the thought and the mistress laughed at her perturbation, laughed with sweet gayety, her mirth rippling in low, joyous notes.
“You have no eye for a fine man, Alice,” she said blithely; “you little prude, do you think I would have let him? Nay, then do you not know me; but ’twas rare fun to see the dare-devil in those gray eyes of his. He has French gold, too, and mercy, how startled he was at my haphazard shot. ’Tis some Jacobite, and there are fierce Whigs at Northampton! Lackaday, the poor gentleman may come into trouble, I must warn him.”
“My lady, my lady,” protested Alice, and then stood aghast. “The saints help us,” she murmured, “there she runs after that bold gallant, like a village lass, and if the earl should see her!”
But generous-hearted Lady Clancarty thought of neither Alice nor the earl. Light of foot as any fawn, she flew over the green after the stranger’s retreating figure, for he had turned in another direction and was leading a black horse by the bridle. The swift run and the excitement of the moment brought the blood to Betty’s cheeks, and she panted for breath when she overtook him.
He turned with a smile. “What, lass,” he said gayly, “hast come for your kiss?”
Lady Clancarty gasped and grew crimson with shame; then drawing herself up to her full height, she flashed at him a look of withering scorn.
“You mistake, sir,” she said haughtily, “you are addressing Lady Clancarty.”
He took off his hat and the long plumes swept the ground at her feet as he made her a profound obeisance.