"Rogue, is it?" mused the Sergeant.

"Animal, my hat!"

"Animal, now?"

"D'ye hear, vermin?" Mr. Dalroyd stood, his head viciously out-thrust so that the long curls of his peruke falling back from brow and cheek discovered more fully his haughty features, delicately pale in the bright moonlight; and beholding this face--its fine black brows, aquiline nose, fierce eyes and thin-lipped mouth the Sergeant fell back, staring:

"Zounds!" he exclaimed, and gaped.

Something in the Sergeant's att.i.tude seemed to strike Mr. Dalroyd who, returning this searching look, lounged back against the wall, one hand toying with the curls of his wig, and when next he spoke his voice was as languidly soft as usual.

"What now, a.s.s?" The Sergeant drew a deep breath:

"Talking o' ghosts and apparations," said he, "I aren't so sure as you ain't one, arter all."

"Why, worm?"

"Because if you happened to be wearing an officer's coat--red and blue facings, say, and your legs in a pair o' jack-boots, I should know--ah, I'd be sure you was a ghost."

"What d'ye mean?" Mr. Dalroyd's slender brows scowled suddenly, and before the malevolence of his eyes the Sergeant gave back another step.

"What d'ye mean, toad?"

"I mean as you'd be dead! But your coat ain't red, is it, sir? And your jack-boots is buckle-shoes, and you're very much alive, ain't you, sir---so I'll ax you to pick up your property and to get back over the wall yonder and to do it--prompt, sir."

The Sergeant was a powerful fellow, at his hip swung a heavy hanger and in hairy fist he gripped a very ugly, k.n.o.bby bludgeon, observing which facts, Mr. Dalroyd did as was suggested; but, ere he dropped back into the lane he turned and smiled down at the stalwart Sergeant.

"My very good clod," said he, "one of these fine, sunny days you shall be drubbed for this--soundly, yes, soundly!"

The Sergeant nodded:

"Sir," said he, "same will be welcome, for, though life in the country agrees wi' me on the whole better than expected, things is apt to grow over quiet now and then and any little bit o' roughsome as you can offer will be dooly welcome and do me a power o' good!"

"Be it so!" nodded Mr. Dalroyd and, smiling, he dropped from view.

Then the Sergeant, whistling softly, strode bedwards quite unaware of the shapeless, horned head that watched him as he went.

CHAPTER XVII

HOW MY LADY BETTY WROTE A LETTER

"DEAR MAJOR D'ARCY,

"Burning yet with a natural womanly indignation by reason of your shameless accusations, each and all as cruel, as unmanly, as unwarranted as unjust I----"

"Pho!" exclaimed Lady Betty and tearing up her unfinished letter, threw it on the floor and stamped on it.

"To MAJOR D'ARCY:

"SIR,

"Though unvirginal, unmaidenly, unwomanly, and lost to all sense of modesty and shame, I am yet not entirely removed from the lesser virtues and amongst them----"

"Pish!" cried Lady Betty, and rent this asunder also.

"MY DEAR MAJOR D'ARCY,

"By this time of course you are duly sorry and deeply ashamed, for the very many indelicate expressions you gave voice to concerning me. You have perchance pa.s.sed a sleepless night and such is but your due considering the abandoned and shameful treatment you accorded me. But seeing you saved me from the brutal arms of----"

"Pshaw!" cried Lady Betty, and this letter shared the fate of its predecessors.

Her black brows frowned, her pink finger-tips were ink-stained, her cheeks glowed, her bosom heaved, her white teeth gnashed themselves, in a word, Lady Betty was in a temper.

"Aunt Belinda, I--hate you!"

"Lud Betty, do you child!" murmured that lady, opening sleepy eyes, "Pray what's amiss now?"

"Why must you tattle of me to Major d'Arcy?"

"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 s.e.x 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!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed 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?"