Lady Bell went on without paying any heed to Mrs. Lascelles’ affectation. “If my Mrs. Sundon or Master Charles were here they would bear out my story.” “By bribery and corruption, only too excusable in such a court,” argued Sir George. “But who may Master Charles be when he is at home? An overgrown baby, as his name would imply, or a wild man of the woods, eh, Lady Bell?” asked Sir George with privileged freedom, while preparing to make his own dinner, like the most frugal of hermits, on bread and milk. “No, don’t press any grosser fare upon me,” he waved off the eagerness of his friends to repay his benefits. “I do enjoy an Arcadian meal at times, when I have not only the felicity of being in Arcady, but of being with nymphs in Arcady,” Sir George bowed, with his hand on his heart. “It is fine to have the command of such language,” said Lady Sundon, holding up her hands. “But about this Master Charles,” Sir George returned to the subject; “can he, after partaking of such syllabubs and gooseberry fools, be still a ruddy youth, with great hands and feet?” Lady Bell laughed, blushed, and winced a little for her friend. Beside Sir George Master Charles would appear ruddy, and his Lumley-bought gloves and boots did not tend to diminish the natural size of his hands and feet; but where was the harm—in the ruddiness especially, unless she had learnt to despise rude health, like the Misses Sundon? They had been putting severe restraint on themselves, that they might not taste more than a morsel, after being hours on the water, not so much to bear Sir George company, for they had not foreseen his temperance, as to display their own ethereal appetites. Harry Fane had watched Lady Bell narrowly. “She is not only of the world worldly, she is as heartless as the others,” was his scornful conclusion. “She is ashamed of the mere recollection of some poor befooled country fellow, whatever he may be, better than this mocking jackanapes; but what does it matter to me?” “A penny for your thoughts, Harry,” cried Lady Sundon, “or if you won’t give us them, propose a toast, do something for the good of the company.” “I drink to you, then, cousin, since you have started the idea,” replied Captain Fane, so soberly that it was almost gloomily, after he found that he could not escape, and that the attention of the party was directed to him. “A plague on the lad! to give an old married woman who might be his mother,” remonstrated Lady Sundon, “but if you are all so kind, thanks to you,” and Lady Sundon beamed radiantly on the raised glasses. “Now, Lady Bell, I’m ready for Master Charles,” suggested Sir George, holding up his glass of milk. “Nothing of the kind,” said Lady Bell, getting nettled. “At least Master Charles is not a milksop; supposing you will pledge in no better, you must pledge yourself, Sir George. I give ‘Sir George Waring,’ and I couple my toast with a sentiment: ‘May we persevere in and profit by simplicity.’”