I? Tattle? O Gemini!"

"Of me--and breeches?"

"Breeches! La miss and fie! I should swoon to name 'em to a man! So
indelicate, so immodest, so----"

"Unvirginal!" cried Betty, and stamped pretty foot more angrily than
ever.

"Truly, miss! Indeed such a word has never crossed my lips to one of
the male sex and never shall----"

"And when you told him he was duly shocked, I suppose, and rolled up
his eyes in a spasm of virtue and lifted his hands in prudish horror?"
demanded Lady Betty, kicking savagely at the litter of torn paper.

"Nay, he frowned, I remember, and positively blushed--and no wonder!"

"He blushed!" cried Betty scornfully, "and he a man--a soldier! By
heaven he seems more virginal than Diana and all her train! Fie on
him, O, 'tis shameful--so big, so strong, so--squeamish! O Lord, how I
hate, detest and despise him!"

"Gracious heaven!" ejaculated Lady Belinda, sitting up suddenly, "I do
verily believe you're in love with him!"

"In love with--him! I?" cried Lady Betty, "I in love with----" she
gasped and stopped suddenly, staring down at the torn paper at her feet
and, as she stared, her lashes drooped and up over creamy chin from
rounded throat to glossy hair crept a wave of vivid colour.

"O Betty," wailed her aunt, "Betty, is it true--is it love or are you
only taken with his--his medieval airs?"

"Aunt Belinda," said Betty, turning her back and staring out through
the open lattice, "there are times when I wonder I don't--bite you!"

"He's so much your elder, Betty!"

"And so much my younger, aunt--in some ways, he's a very child! But
suppose I do marry him, what then, aunt?"

"Marry him! Heaven above--marry Major d'Arcy? Betty, are you mad?
You so young and giddy, he so--so mature and grave----"

"You never saw him climb a wall, aunt!"

"Old enough to be your father, girl! So very sober and reserved! So
very serious and quiet----"

"You haven't seen him in his plum-coloured velvet, aunt!"

"But you--O Bet, you never really--love him!"

"Of--course--not! What has love to do with marriage, dear aunt?
Love-marriages are so unmodish--'tis like plough-boy and
dairy-wench--hugging and kissing--faugh, so vulgar and nauseous! Nay,
aunt, I desire a marriage _a la mode_: 'Good-morrow to your ladyship, I
trust your ladyship slept well?' A solemn bow, a kiss upon one extreme
finger-tip!' O, excellently, sir, I hope you the same.' A smile and
gracious curtsey--and so to