“Ah, well, it broke my heart to fly from the field at Culloden. When I thought of the Prince and his hopes—when I perceived that all was ended in the whirling snow of that bleak day—I forgot myself. For a moment life did seem of little worth; not that I ever had the cause so much at heart, but ’twas a sad end of a brave adventure, and I felt what was passing in the Prince’s mind. I tarried for a last stroke of protest, and a pity it is it fell on no better object than a dog whose only business on the field was plunder,—for I don’t think that fellow was a true soldier; ’twas by fool’s luck he pinked me with his bayonet.—But, deuce take it, where was I? Ah, yes. If I’ve been venturesome now and again, I have never felt that the danger was more than my arm and eye were equal to,—and that’s not rashness, Will. A man is a fool who doesn’t hold life precious. If it isn’t precious, what’s the merit in risking it for a good cause? There are so many fine things to see and do when one is alive, ’tis sheer lunacy to place them all in the balance against a trifle. As for the satisfaction of looking on a pretty face for a greater or less space of time,—no, ’tis not enough.”
“Wait till you see the right face, dear lad,” said Roughwood, quietly.
“When I do, dear lad, you shall hear of it.”
Upon this speech, blithely uttered, Everell filled their two glasses with wine from the single bottle they had ordered. The young men were about to pledge each other, when the sudden opening of the door caused them to look sharply in that direction, holding their glasses midway between table and lips. A young lady came in with quick steps. At sight of the gentlemen, she stopped at once, and looked sweetly embarrassed. Everell and Roughwood rose to their feet, and bowed.
“Your pardon, sirs,” said the intruder. “I was—I wanted to see Prudence.” Her confusion, to which was due the strangeness of this remark, became all the greater on her perceiving that strangeness, and she blushed deeply.
“Prudence?” echoed Everell, politely. “If you mean a lady of that name, we have not seen her here.”
“She is my waiting-woman,” explained Georgiana. “I didn’t expect to find her in this room. She is in the kitchen, no doubt, so I thought of coming to this room and ringing the bell. I thought there might be nobody here, but I see I intrude.”
“Not in the least,” said Everell, earnestly. “You arrive just in time to provide us with a toast. To those sweet eyes!”
He was about to drink, when the new wave of crimson that swept over her face at this tenderly spoken praise of her visual organs engendered a sudden abashment in Everell. “I have been too bold, perhaps,” he said, in a kind of vague alarm. “If so, I entreat your pardon, madam.”
She looked at him with undisguised interest, and said, slowly, “I know not. If you are bold, there seems a respect in your boldness,—a gentleness and a consideration—” She stopped short, as having gone too far. A slight quiver of the lip, and a certain note of resentment in her last words, combined with the words themselves, conveyed a message to his quick wit.