"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, flushing.

"True, dear Bet, very true--a mark of distinction as you say, though it quite spoils his grace of carriage. Still, despite his limp, the Major hath admirable limbs--a leetle robust and ultra-developed perhaps, child, doubtless due to his marching and counter-marching, whatever that may be. None the less, though I grant you his leg, Bet--he limps!

Now Mr. Dalroyd, on the other hand----"

"Leg, aunt!"

"Lud, child----!"

"His leg, dear aunt, keep to his leg!"

"Gracious me, miss--what under heaven----"

"Legs, aunt, legs!"

"Mercy on us, Betty, what of his legs?"

"They are bearing him hither at this moment, dear aunt."

"O Gemini!" wailed the Lady Belinda, starting up from her cushions.

"Heaven's mercy, Bet, how can you! And me in this gown--behold me--so faded and woebegone----"

"Nay, dear aunt, a little rouge----"

"I meant my garments, miss--look at 'em! And my hair! Ring the bell--call the maids! I vow I shall swoon an' he catch me so----"

"Nay, aunt, you do look very well and Sir Benjamin----"

"He too!" shrieked Lady Belinda, "I faint! I'm all of a twitter--I----

"And Lord Alvaston, aunt, and the Marquis, and Mr. Marchdale, and Major d'Arcy----" but Lady Belinda had fled, twittering.

Left alone, Betty grew restless, crossed to the open lattice and frowned at the flowers on the terrace, crossed to her harp in the corner and struck a discord with petulant fingers, took up her aunt's discarded book, frowned at that, dropped it; finally she sat down and propping white chin on white fist, stared down at her own pretty foot.

"I wonder if you'll come?" she murmured. "Major John, O John, you cruel Jack, I wonder if--all night long--you lay wakeful, too? I wonder---ah, I wonder if----"

A tapping at the door and, starting up, she stood bright-eyed, rosy lips apart, all shy expectancy from head to foot then, sighing, sank gracefully upon the day-bed and took up her aunt's discarded book as the door opened and the large menial announced:

"Mr. Dalroyd!"

My lady rose majestically and never had she greeted Mr. Dalroyd with such a radiant smile.

"You are come betimes, sir!" she said gently as he bowed to kiss her hand.

"Is that so great matter for wonder?" he enquired, his ardent gaze drinking in her loveliness. "You know full well, sweet Lady Coquetry, 'tis ever my joy and constant aim to--be alone with you, to touch this white hand, to kiss----"

"Fie, sir!" she sighed, but provocation was in the droop of eyelash, the tremulous curve of lip and in all the soft, voluptuous languor of her.

Mr. Dalroyd's usually pale cheek glowed, his long, white hands twitched restless fingers and he seated himself beside her.

"Betty," he murmured, "O Betty, how delicious you are! From the first moment I saw you I----"

"'Twas at Bath, I think, sir, or was it at Tunbridge?"

"Nay, my lady, since we're alone, have done with trifling----"

"But indeed, sir, 'tis a trifling matter since you and I are but trifles in a trifling world. And 'tis a trifling day--and mine is a trifling humour so, since we're alone, let us trifle. And speaking of trifles--have you writ me the trifling ode I did command, sir?"

"Faith no, madam, there are so many to do that and I would fain be exempt. Where others scribble bad verses to your charms I would feast my sight upon them. Look you, Betty," he continued, leaning nearer, his languid eyes grown suddenly wide, his thin nostrils quivering.

"I'm no tame dog to run in leash like the rest of your train of lovers, to come at your call and go when you are weary--content with a word, a glance--treasuring a rose from your bosom, a riband from your hair and seeking nought beyond--no, by G.o.d! 'tis you I want--fast in my arms, close on my heart, panting 'neath my kisses----" As he spoke he drew yet nearer until his hot breath was upon her cheek, wherefore my lady put up her fan and, leaning there all gracious ease surveyed him with clear, unswerving gaze, his ill-restrained ferocity, his clutching fingers, his eyes aflame with pa.s.sionate desire; and beholding all this, my lady dazzled him with her smile and nodded lovely head:

"O excellently done!" she laughed lightly. "Indeed, sir, now you do trifle to admiration!"

"Trifle?" he exclaimed hoa.r.s.ely, "Trifle is it? Not I, by heaven--ah Betty--maddening witch----" His arms came out fiercely but, before he could clasp her, she had risen and stepped back out of reach, looking down at him with the same steady gaze, the same bewildering smile.

"Nay, sir," she said gently, "though in this trifling world you are but a trifle, 'tis true, yet your trifling offends me like your neighbourhood!" and crossing to the open lattice she leaned there, staring out into the sunny garden. Mr. Dalroyd watched her awhile beneath drooping lids then, rising, sauntered after her.

"And pray, madam, why this sudden, haughty repugnance?" he demanded softly, "you know and have known from the first, that I love you."