"Well," Diavolo resumed, reflectively, "I should have thought myself that it was playing it pretty low down to sneak on a woman. But, I say, sir," he asked innocently, "how would you define a lady-killer?"
"Lady-killer," said the little old gentleman, taking hold of his collar to perk himself up out of his clothes, as it were, on the strength of his past reputation: "A lady-killer is a—eh—a fellow whom ladies—eh—admire."
"Do you mean real ladies, or only pretty women?" said Diavolo.
"Both, my boy, both," the duke answered complacently. He was beginning to enjoy himself.
"You were one once, were you not, sir?" said Diavolo. "I suppose you had a deuced good time?"
"Ah!" the duke ejaculated, with a sigh of retrospective satisfaction. Then, suddenly remembering his new role, he pulled himself up, and added severely. "But keep clear of women, my boy, keep clear of women. Women are the very devil, sir."
"But supposing they run after you?" said Diavolo. "Nowadays, you know, a fellow gets so hunted down—they say."
"Oh—ah—then. In that case, you see," said the duke, relapsing, "the principle has always been to take the goods the gods may send you, and be thankful."
There was a pause after this, during which the duke again recollected himself.
"We were talking about women," he sternly recommenced, "and I was warning you that their wiles are snares of the evil one, who finds them ever ready to carry out his worst behests. Women are bad."