"What?" Lady Betty asked, eyeing him archly, her finger in her mouth, her head on one side.
"Indifferent to your ladyship! Oh, I assure your ladyship never in all my life have I felt so profound a----"
"Really?"
"A--an admiration of any one, never have I----"
"Said so much to a lady! That, sir, I can believe!"
This time the voice was not Betty's, and he started as if he had been pricked. He spun round, and saw Sophia standing beside the fire, a little behind the door through which he had entered. He had thought himself alone with his inamorata; and his face of dismay was ludicrous. "Oh!" he faltered, bowing hurriedly, "I beg your pardon, ma'am, I--I did not see you."
"So I suppose," she answered, coldly, "or you would not have presumed to say such words to a lady."
He cringed. "I am sure," he stammered, "if I have been wanting in respect, I beg her ladyship's pardon! I am sure, I know----"
"Are you sure--you know who you are?" Sophia asked with directness.
He was all colours at once, but strove to mask the wound under a pretty sentence. "I trust a gentleman may aspire to--to all that beauty has to give," he simpered. "I may not, ma'am, be of her ladyship's rank."