"
"In a better world, ma'am, I would believe you."
"And here you believe kind folks would sneer at Harry Boyce for scenting
an heiress. So you tuck your tail between your legs and go to ground. I
suppose that is called honour, sir."
"Oh no, ma'am. Taste."
"La, I offend monsieur's fine taste, do I?"
"Not often, ma'am. But by all means let us be earnest. I believe I mind
being sneered at no more than my betters. _Par exemple_, ma'am, when you
laugh at me for being shabby, I am not much disturbed."
She blushed furiously. "I never did."
"Oh, I must have read your thoughts then," Harry laughed. "Well, what
matters to me is not that folks laugh at me but why they laugh. That they
mock me for being out at elbows I swallow well enough. That they should
sneer at me for making love to a woman's purse would give me a nausea."
Miss Lambourne was pleased to look modest. "Indeed, sir, I did not know
that you had made love to me."
"I am obliged by your honesty, ma'am."
Miss Lambourne looked up and spoke with some vehemence. "It comes
to this, then, you would be beaten by what folks may say about you.
Oh, brave!"
"Lud, we are all beaten by what folks might say. Would you ride into
London in your shift?"
"I don't want to ride in my shift," she cried fiercely.
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