“Have you heard the news from abroad, Richard?” she asked, as I handed her into my chariot.
“Never a line,” I replied.
“Pho!” exclaimed Patty; “you tell me that! Where have you been hiding? Then you shall not have it from me.”
I had little trouble, however, in persuading her. For news was a rare luxury in those days, and Patty was plainly uncomfortable until she should have it out.
“I would not give you the vapours to-night for all the world, Richard,” she exclaimed. “But if you must,—Dr. Courtenay has had a letter from Mr. Manners, who says that Dolly is to marry his Grace of Chartersea. There now!”
“And I am not greatly disturbed,” I answered, with a fine, careless air.
The lanthorn on the chariot was burning bright. And I saw Patty look at me, and laugh.
“Indeed!” says she; “what a sex is that to which you belong. How ready are men to deny us at the first whisper! And I thought you the most constant of all. For my part, I credit not a word of it. 'Tis one of Mr. Marmaduke's lies and vanities.”
“And for my part, I think it true as gospel,” I cried. “Dolly always held a coronet above her colony, and all her life has dreamed of a duke.”
“Nay,” answered Patty, more soberly; “nay, you do her wrong. You will discover one day that she is loyal to the core, tho' she has a fop of a father who would serve his Grace's chocolate. We are all apt to talk, my dear, and to say what we do not mean, as you are doing.”