"I believe we are. I think Lady Marabout said so."
"Then I shall exert myself, and go too. It will be a terrible bore—balls always are. But to waltz with you I will try to encounter it!"
Flora Montolieu arched her eyebrows, and gave him a little disdainful glance.
"Lord Goodwood, do not be so sure that I shall waltz at all with you. If you take vanity for wit, I cannot accept discourtesy as compliment!"
"Well hit, little lady!" thought Carruthers, with a mental bravissima.
"What a speech!" thought Lady Marabout, across the table, as shocked as though a footman had dropped a cascade of iced hock over her.
"You got it for once, Goodwood," laughed Carruthers, as they drove away in his tilbury. "You never had such a sharp brush as that."
"By Jove, no! Positively it was quite a new sensation—refreshing, indeed! One grows so tired of the women who agree with one eternally. She's charming, on my word. Who is she, Phil? In an heraldic sense, I mean."
"My dear child, what could possess you to answer Lord Goodwood like that?" cried Lady Marabout, as her barouche rolled down Palace Gardens.
"Possess me? The Demon of Mischief, I suppose."