"At the back of the arbor," she nodded, "with my ear to the panelling,
--I am sometimes a little deaf, you see."
"You mean that you were--actually prying--?"
"And I enjoyed it all very much, especially your 'immaculate' speech,
which was very heroic, but perfectly ridiculous, of course. Indeed,
you are a dreadfully young, young sir, I fear. In future, I warn you
not to tell a woman, too often, how much you respect her, or she'll
begin to think you don't love her at all. To be over-respectful
doesn't sit well on a lover, and 'tis most unfair and very trying to
the lady, poor soul!"
"To hearken to a private conversation doesn't sit well on a lady,
madam, or an honorable woman."
"No, indeed, young sir. But then, you see, I'm neither. I'm only a
Duchess, and a very old one at that, and I think I told you I wore a
wig? But 'all the world loves a lover,' and so do I. As soon as ever
I saw you I knew you for a lover of the 'everything-or-nothing' type.
Oh, yes, all lovers are of different types, sir, and I think I know
'em all. You see, when I was young and beautiful--ages ago--lovers
were a hobby of mine,--I studied them, sir. And, of 'em all, I
preferred the 'everything-or-nothing, fire-and-ice, kiss-me-or-kill-me'
type. That was why I followed you, that was why I watched and listened,
and, I grieve to say, I didn't find you as deliciously brutal as I
had hoped."
"Brutal, madam? Indeed, I--"
"Of course! When you snatched her up in your arms,--and I'll admit
you did it very well,--when you had her there, you should have
covered her with burning kisses, and with an oath after each. Girls
like Cleone need a little brutality and--Ah! there's the Countess!
And smiling at me quite lovingly, I declare! Now I wonder what rod
she has in pickle for me? Dear me, sir, how dusty your coat is! And
spurred boots and buckskins are scarcely the mode for a garden fete.
Still, they're distinctive, and show off your leg to advantage,
better than those abominable Cossack things,--and I doat upon a good
leg--" But here she broke off and turned to greet the Countess,--a
large, imposing, bony lady in a turban, with the eye and the beak of
a hawk.
"My dearest Letitia!"
"My dear Duchess,--my darling Fanny, you 're younger than ever,
positively you are,--I'd never have believed it!" cried the Countess,
more hawk-like than ever. "I heard you were failing fast, but now I
look at you, dearest Fanny, I vow you don't look a day older than
seventy."
"And I'm seventy-one, alas!" sighed the Duchess, her eyes young with
mischief. "And you, my sweetest creature,--how well you look! Who
would ever imagine that we were at school together, Letitia!"