“Well, well,” she said, “here comes your devoted friend the drover. I’m thinking he will be eager for the road; and I will not be easy myself till I see you well off the premises, and the dishes washed, before my servant-woman wakes. Praise God, we have gotten one that is a treasure at the sleeping!”
The morning was already beginning to be blue in the trees of the garden, and to put to shame the candle by which I had breakfasted. The lady rose from table, and I had no choice but to follow her example. All the time I was beating my brains for any means by which I should be able to get a word apart with Flora, or find the time to write her a billet. The windows had been opened while I breakfasted, I suppose to ventilate the room from any traces of my passage there; and, Master Ronald appearing on the front lawn, my ogre leaned forth to address him.
“Ronald,” she said, “wasn’t that Sim that went by the wall?”
I snatched my advantage. Right at her back there was pen, ink, and paper laid out. I wrote: “I love you”; and before I had time to write more, or so much as to blot what I had written, I was again under the guns of the gold eye-glasses.
“It’s time,” she began; and then, as she observed my occupation, “Umph!” she broke off. “Ye have something to write?” she demanded.
“Some notes, madam,” said I, bowing with alacrity.
“Notes,” she said; “or a note?”
“There is doubtless some finesse of the English language that I do not comprehend,” said I.
“I’ll contrive, however, to make my meaning very plain to ye, Mosha le Viscount,” she continued. “I suppose you desire to be considered a gentleman?”
“Can you doubt it, madam?” said I.