“You are not young, but you are younger than you are bashful. You always were one of those quiet dare-devils—the worst kind, to my mind.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“And Jane Temple—ha! ha!”
Throckmorton joined in Mrs. Sherrard’s fine, ringing laugh.
“A Yankee son-in-law!” screamed Mrs. Sherrard, still laughing; then she became grave, and beckoned Throckmorton, sitting straight and square in his saddle, to come closer, so the black driver could not hear. “Jane, you know,” she said, confidentially, “was always daft about the war after Beverley’s death; and, let me tell you, Beverley was a fine, tall, handsome, brave, silly, commonplace fellow as ever lived. Judith has more brains and wit than all the Temple men put together, and most of the women. Hers was as clear a case of a winged thing that can soar married to a Muscovy drake as ever I saw. Luckily, she hadn’t an opportunity to wake up to it fully, before he was killed; and then, just like a hot-headed, romantic thing, she wrapped herself in crape, and has given up her whole life to Jane and General Temple, and Jacky.”
Throckmorton felt a certain restraint in speaking of Judith to Mrs. Sherrard, who had assumed that it was his duty to fall in love with Judith instead of Jacqueline. So he flicked a fly off his horse’s neck and remained silent.
“I do wish,” resumed Mrs. Sherrard, pettishly, “that Jane Temple would act like a woman of sense, and send for me over to Barn Elms, and show me Jacky’s wedding things.”
“Very inconsiderate of Jane, I am sure. If it would relieve your mind at all, you might come to Millenbeck, and I would be delighted to show you my coats and trousers. They are very few. I always have a plenty of shirts and stockings, but my outside wardrobe isn’t imposing.”
“I don’t take the slightest interest in your clothes. You don’t dress half as much as Jack does.”