"To tell the truth, my dear, I have barely set eyes on the lady. I have been otherwise engaged, and I have done with all women, for the time, save one."
"So I have heard you say before. Do you contemplate marriage? Lud! but I pity the girl." She gave a jeering little laugh, but it was evident that she was interested.
His Grace was not in the least degree ruffled.
"I do not contemplate marriage, Lavinia, so your sympathies are wasted. I have met a girl-a mere child, for sure-and I will not rest until I have her."
"Lord! Another farmer's chit?"
"No, my dear sister, not another farmer's chit. A lady."
"God help her! Who is she? Where does she live?"
"She lives in Sussex. Her name I shall not tell you."
Her ladyship kicked an offending cushion on to the floor, and snapped at him.
"Oh, as you please! I shall not die of curiosity!"
"Ah!" The cynical lips curled annoyingly, and Lady Lavinia was seized with a mad desire to hurl her smelling-bottle at him. But she knew that it was worse than useless to be angry with Tracy, so she yawned ostentatiously, and hoped that she irritated him. If she did, she got no satisfaction from it, for he continued, quite imperturbably: "She is the daintiest piece ever a man saw, and I'll swear there's blood and fire beneath the ice!"
"Is it possible the girl will have none of your Grace?" wondered Lavinia in mock amazement, and had the pleasure of seeing him frown.
The thin brows met over his arched nose, and the eyes glinted a little, while she caught a glimpse of cruel white teeth closing on a sensual under-lip. She watched his hand clench on his snuff-box, and exulted silently at having roused him. It was a very brief joy, however, for the next moment the frown had disappeared, the hand unclenched, and he was smiling again.
"At present she is cold," he admitted, "but I hope that in time she will become more plastic. I think, Lavinia, I have some experience with your charming, if capricious sex."
"I don't doubt you have. Where did you meet this perverse beauty?"
"In the Pump Room."
"Lud! Pray, describe her."
"I shall be delighted. She is taller than yourself, and dark. Her hair is like a dusky cloud of black, and it ripples off her brow and over her little ears in a most damnably alluring fashion. Her eyes are brown, but there are lights in them that are purest amber, and yet they are dark and velvety-"
My lady had recourse to the smelling-bottle.