'Trust you, and the stopper is out of the smelling-bottle.' 'Mr. Beamish, we are women, but we have souls.' 'The pip in the apple whose ruddy cheek allures little Tommy to rob the orchard is as good a preservative.' 'You admit that men are our enemies?' 'I maintain that they carry the banner of virtue.' 'Oh, Mr. Beamish, I shall expire.' 'I forbid it in my lifetime, Chloe, for I wish to die believing in one woman.' 'No flattery for me at the expense of my sisters!' 'Then fly to a hermitage; for all flattery is at somebody's expense, child. 'Tis an essence-extract of humanity! To live on it, in the fashion of some people, is bad--it is downright cannibal. But we may sprinkle our handkerchiefs with it, and we should, if we would caress our noses with an air. Society, my Chloe, is a recommencement upon an upper level of the savage system; we must have our sacrifices. As, for instance, what say you of myself beside our booted bumpkin squires?' 'Hundreds of them, Mr. Beamish !' 'That is a holocaust of squires reduced to make an incense for me, though you have not performed Druid rites and packed them in gigantic osier ribs. Be philosophical, but accept your personal dues. Grant us ours too. I have a serious intention to preserve this young duchess, and I expect my task to be severe. I carry the banner aforesaid; verily and penitentially I do. It is an error of the vulgar to suppose that all is dragon in the dragon's jaws.' 'Men are his fangs and claws.' 'Ay, but the passion for his fiery breath is in woman. She will take her leap and have her jump, will and will! And at the point where she will and she won't, the dragon gulps and down she goes! However, the business is to keep our buttercup duchess from that same point. Is she near?' 'I can see her,' said Chloe. Beau Beamish requested a sketch of her, and Chloe began: 'She is ravishing.' Upon which he commented, 'Every woman is ravishing at forty paces, and still more so in imagination.' 'Beautiful auburn hair, and a dazzling red and white complexion, set in a blue coif.' 'Her eyes?' 'Melting blue.' ''Tis an English witch!' exclaimed the beau, and he compassionately invoked her absent lord. Chloe's optics were no longer tasked to discern the fair lady's lineaments, for the chariot windows came flush with those of the beau on the broad plateau of the hill. His coach door was opened. He sat upright, levelling his privileged stare at Duchess Susan until she blushed. 'Ay, madam,' quoth he, 'I am not the first.' 'La, sir!' said she; 'who are you?' The beau deliberately raised his hat and bowed. 'He, madam, of whose approach the gentleman who took his leave of you on yonder elevation informed you.' She looked artlessly over her shoulder, and at the beau alighting from his carriage. 'A gentleman?' 'On horseback.' The duchess popped her head through the window on an impulse to measure the distance between the two hills. 'Never!' she cried.