“At another time, my lady,” he said; “now I must wait on a friend, who has the first claim upon me. My ladies all, good-night,” and he bowed gracefully, a certain merry defiance in his glance.
Lady Betty held out her hand involuntarily.
“I thank you for the ballad,” she said and smiled.
He carried her hand to his lips and, it may be, kissed it with more fervor than courtesy required, for the rosy tide swept over her white neck and her cheeks and brow.
As he went out, Lady Sunderland tapped her fan upon her lips. “Don’t tell it,” she said, with the coquetry of a girl of sixteen, “don’t tell it, but la!—he has the finest figure I ever saw, and the legs of an Apollo.”
“’Pon my soul, madam, that’s a compliment that’s worth dying for,” Mr. Benham said, with a peculiar smile at Savile.
Betty seeing it, went over and stood staring into the embers on the hearth, though she pretended to be talking to young Mackie.