at goes wi' these here breeches and vicey-versey--this mulberry
velvet wi'--

"Aye, to be sure, Zeb, to be sure. Now I see 'em so, I rather think
we'll make it the mulberry, though to be sure the pearl-grey hath its
merits--hum! We must deliberate, Zeb! 'Twill be either the mulberry
or the grey or the blue and silver or t'other with the embroidery
or--hum! 'Tis a problem, Zeb, a problem--we must think--a council of
war!"

"Aye, sir!" answered the Sergeant, staring.

"Anyway, 'twill be one of them, Zeb--to-morrow afternoon. To be sure I
rather fancy the orange-tawney, and yet the blue and silver--hum!"

Here the perplexed Major crossed to the mullioned window and standing
there drew a letter from his pocket and unfolding it with reverent
fingers read these words:

"DEAR AND MOST CRUEL MAJOR JOHN,

To-morrow is to be an occasion, therefore to-morrow I do invite you to
come at four of the clock, or as soon after as you will, to look upon
the sad, pale and woeful face of

deeply wronged,
much abused,
cruelly slandered,
ELIZABETH.

To Major ill-thinking, vile-imagining, basely-suspecting d'Arcy--these."

CHAPTER XXIII

DESCRIBES A TRIUMPH AND A DEFEAT

Lady Belinda leaning back upon her cushioned day-bed, glanced up from
the open book before her and surveyed her niece's lovely, down-bent
head with curious solicitude.

"Betty, love," said she at last, "Bet, my sweet witch, you're
vapourish! So will I read to thee--list to this," and lifting her
book, Lady Belinda read as follows: "'It must be granted that delicacy
is essential to the composition of female beauty and that strength and
robustness are contrary to the idea of it.' Alack, Betty, dear child
and my sweet, I do fear you are dreadfully robust and almost
repulsively strong! Hearken again: 'The beauty of women is greatly
owing to their delicacy and weakness'--O my love, how just! I myself
was ever most sincerely delicate and weak! How very, very true!" Here
Lady Belinda paused, eyeing her niece expectantly, but, in place of
indignant outburst, was silence; Betty sat apparently lost in mournful
reverie.

"You like Mr. Dalroyd, I think, aunt?" she enquired suddenly.

"Indeed--a charming man! So elegant! Such an air--and such--O my
dear--such a leg!"

"Major d'Arcy has a leg also, aunt--two of 'em!"

"And limps!" added Lady Belinda, "Limps woefully at times!"

"'Tis a mark of distinction in a soldier!" exclaimed Betty