"Yes," said Theodora heartily. "We've agreed to let by-gones be by-gones. He's thoroughly domesticated."
Just then occurred the little flutter that announces an irruption from the lower regions. A number of men came in at once, the marquis and William McBean among them. Six months of his American wife had aged the marquis ten years. His hair was whitened and his once bold eyes had a cowed and uneasy look.
The talk ran to hunting. The marquis said: "To-morrow the Marsh meadow is to be drawn, and I can promise you as good sport as is to be found in the country. There is an old red fox—"
"Dearest," cried Theodora, softly but reproachfully, from her sofa, "if you go out to-morrow how are you to finish painting the front of my satin gown which I am to wear at the hunt ball?"
Everybody had heard her. William McBean grinned delightedly, and whispered to Anne, "Now the British lion's tail will be twisted."
The marquis's face grew three quarters of a yard long. He shifted uneasily in his chair.
"My love, do you really want that gown?"
"Of course I do, darling."
"Then," said the miserable marquis, with a ghastly assumption of a joke, "I'll have to give up the Marsh meadow to-morrow. But the next day, Wednesday—"
"Oh—oh!" cried Theodora with coquettish playfulness, pinching his ear, "don't you know you've got to take mamma up to town to do some shopping? Forgetful man!"