"Why need she know anything about it? Say—oh, anything—that you are going with the Burnetts: they have gone to the Italian lakes, but I don't suppose she knows."
The temptation was great, but the little widow was no fool in some ways. She saw her way to make something of an impression on her worldly admirer.
"No, Colonel Ormonde," she said, shaking her head, while she permitted the "suspicious moisture" to gather in her eyes. "It would indeed be a treat to a poor little recluse like me, but though there is not a bit of harm in it, or you would not ask me, I am sure, I must not offend my mother-in-law; and though Heaven knows I am not straight-laced, I never will tell stories or act deceitfully if I can help it; that is my only strong point, which has to make up for a thousand weak ones."
Colonel Ormonde looked at her with amazement; her greatest charm to men such as he was her dolliness, and this was a new departure.
"Well," he said, in his most insinuating tones, "I thought you might have granted so much to an old friend and faithful admirer like myself. There is no great harm in my little plan."
"Certainly not, but you see I must hold on to my mother-in-law: she is my only real stay. While pleasant and friendly as you are, my dear Colonel"—with a pretty little toss of her head—"you will go off shooting, or hunting, or Heaven knows what, and it is quite possible I may never see your face again."
"Oh, by George! you will not get rid of me so easily," cried Ormonde, a good deal taken back.
"I shall be very glad to see you if you do turn up again," said Mrs. Liddell, graciously. "So as this will probably be the last time I shall see you for some months, pray tell me some amusing gossip."
But gossip did not seem to come readily to Colonel Ormonde; nevertheless they made a tour of the gardens in desultory conversation, till Mrs. Liddell stopped decidedly, and bade him adieu.
"At last," said the cautious ex-dragoon, "you will write and tell me how you get on with this amiable old relative of yours."