When the door opened Major d'Arcy stood staring blindly out of the window his clenched fists thrust deep into the pockets of the dove-coloured coat, and my lady, seated afar, frowned at her dainty shoe; next moment she had risen and was greeting the company all smiles and gaiety.

"Dear my lady," cried Sir Benjamin, bowing over her white hand with elaborate grace, "your most submissive humble! Major d'Arcy sir--yours! Sweet Madam, most beauteous Queen of Hearts, you behold us. .h.i.ther come, rival's one and all for your sweet graces, yet rivals united in hem! in worship of Our Admirable Betty!"

At this was a loud hum of approval with much graceful bending of backs, shooting of ruffles and tapping of snuff-boxes.

"Here in bowery Westerham," continued Sir Benjamin, laced handkerchief gracefully a-flutter, "here in this smiling countryside celebrated alike for hem! for beauty--I say for beauty and--and--

"Beer!" suggested his lordship sleepily.

"No, no, Alvaston--'od, no sir--tush! Egad you quite put me out!

Where was I? Aye--the smiling country-side famous alike for beauty of scene, of womenkind, of----"

"Horses!" said the Marquis.

"A plague o' your horses, sir!"

"But Ben----"

"I say I'll have none of 'em, sir! Here, dear lady, within these Arcadian solitudes we exist like so many Hermits of Love, pa.s.sing our days immune from strife political and the clash of faction, remote from the joys of London--its wose, its hem! I say its----"

"Dust!" sighed Sir Jasper.

"Aye, its dust, its----"

"Watchmen!" quoth Mr. Marchdale.

"Watchmen?" repeated Sir Benjamin doubtfully. "Y--es, its watchmen, its woes, its----"

"Smells!" yawned Lord Alvaston.

"Smells?" gasped Sir Benjamin, "'Od requite me sir--smells, sir!"

"What smells?" enquired Lady Belinda, pausing abruptly on the threshold with hands clasped. "Not fire? O Gemini, I shall swoon! Sir Benjamin, your arm pray, positively I languish at the bare idea--fire?"

"No, no, madam," exclaimed Sir Benjamin, supporting her to a chair, "here is no fire save the flames engendered of love, madam, for as I was saying--

"Stay, dear Sir Ben," laughed Betty, "first tell me, have you all writ me your odes?"

"'Od support me, yes faith, madam, we have writ you, rhymed you and versified you to a man, and it hath been agreed betwixt us, one and all, that hem! before these same odes, sonnets, triolets, vilanelles, rondeaus, chants-royal, ballades and the like be humbly submitted to you, we their authors shall hem! Shall----"

"Hold, my Benjamin, hold!" exclaimed Lord Alvaston. "Too much beating 'bout bush, Ben my boy. Dear Lady Bet, what poor Ben's been trying t'

say, wants t' say, but don't know how t' say 's simply this--that having wrote odes 'n' things, we're minded t' read 'em t' each other and pa.s.s judgment on 'em, 'n' whoever has--

"Clapped the firmest saddle on Pegasus," continued the Marquis, "will be given----"

"He means whoso hath writ the best, Betty," Mr. Marchdale explained with youthful gravity.

"Shall be given three laps and a fly-away start in the Wooing Handicap," the Marquis continued.

"'Od--'Od's my life!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Sir Benjamin indignantly, "We're not in the stables now, Alton! Suffer me to explain clearly----"

"But--wooing handicap?" repeated Betty, wrinkling her brows in puzzlement.

"Matrimonial Stakes, then," continued the irrepressible Marquis. "You see, Bet, we are all riding in this race for you and it has been ruled that----"

"My lady," sighed the soulful Sir Jasper, "it hath been agreed that whoso indites the worthiest screed to your beauty, he whose poor verses shall be judged most worthy shall be awarded three clear days wherein to plead his suit with thee, to humbly sigh, to sue, to----"

"A clear field and no favour, my lady!" the Marquis added.

"And," sighed Sir Jasper, "thrice happy mortal he who shall be privileged to call thee 'wife'!"

"Indeed, indeed," laughed my lady, "'tis vastly, excellently quaint----"

"My idea!" said the Captain, shooting his ruffles. "Came to me--in a moment--like a flash!"

"Though truly," she sighed, "I do begin to think I ne'er shall wed and be doomed to lead apes in h.e.l.l as they say--unless for a penance I marry Mr. Dalroyd or--Major d'Arcy! But come," she continued, smiling down their many protests and rising, "let us into the garden, 'tis shady on the lawn, we'll act a charade! Sir Jasper, your hand, pray."

Thereupon, with a prodigious fluttering of lace ruffles, the flash of jewelled sword-hilts and shoe-buckles, the sheen of rich satins and velvets, the gallant company escorted my lady into the garden and across the smooth lawn.

"'Tis a pert and naughty puss!" exclaimed Lady Belinda, studying the Major's downcast face, "Indeed a graceless, heartless piece, sir!"

"Er--yes, mam," he answered abstractedly.

"A very wicked and irreverent baggage, Major!"

"Certainly, mam."

"Indeed, dear sir, what with her airy graces and her graceless airs I do shudder for her future, my very soul positively--shivers!"

"Shiver, mam?" enquired the Major, starting. "Shiver? Why 'tis very warm, I think----"

"Nay, this was an inward shiver, sir, a spasmic shudder o' the soul!

Indeed she doeth me constant outrage."

"Who, mam?"

"Why Betty, for sure." Here the Major sighed again, his wistful gaze wandered back to the open lattice and he fell to deep and melancholy reverie the while Lady Belinda observed him sharp-eyed, his face leanly handsome framed in the glossy curls of his great peruke, the exquisite cut of his rich garments and the slender grace of the powerful figure they covered, his high-bred air, his grave serenity mingled with a shy reserve; finally she spoke:

"Major d'Arcy, your arm pray--let us go sit out upon the terrace."

"Your--er--pardon madam," he answered a little diffidently, "I was but now thinking of taking--er--my departure----"

"Go sir--O no sir! Tut Major and fie! What would Betty think of your so sudden desertion? Besides, I feel talkative--let us sit and tattle awhile, let us conspire together to the future good of my naughty niece and your wild nephew--Pancras. Though, by the way, sir, I didn't know Pancras had an uncle."

"Nor has he, mam," answered the Major, escorting her out upon the terrace and sitting down rather unwillingly, "I am but his uncle by--er--adoption, as 'twere."

"Adoption, sir?"

"He adopted me years ago--he was but a child then, d'ye see, and something solitary."