Our Admirable Betty

Chapter 17

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"Burning yet with a natural womanly indignation by reason of your shameless accusations, each and all as cruel, as unmanly, as unwarranted as unjust I--"

"Though unvirginal, unmaidenly, unwomanly, and lost to all sense of modesty and shame, I am yet not entirely removed from the lesser virtues and amongst them--"

"By this time of course you are duly sorry and deeply ashamed, for the very many indelicate expressions you gave voice to concerning me. You have perchance passed a sleepless night and such is but your due considering the abandoned and shameful treatment you accorded me. But seeing you saved me from the brutal arms of--"

Her black brows frowned, her pink finger-tips were ink-stained, her cheeks glowed, her bosom heaved, her white teeth gnashed themselves, in a word, Lady Betty was in a temper.

"And when you told him he was duly shocked, I suppose, and rolled up his eyes in a spasm of virtue and lifted his hands in prudish horror?" demanded Lady Betty, kicking savagely at the litter of torn paper.

"He blushed!" cried Betty scornfully, "and he a man-a soldier! By heaven he seems more virginal than Diana and all her train! Fie on him, O, 'tis shameful-so big, so strong, so-squeamish! O Lord, how I hate, detest and despise him!"

"In love with-him! I?" cried Lady Betty, "I in love with--" she gasped and stopped suddenly, staring down at the torn paper at her feet and, as she stared, her lashes drooped and up over creamy chin from rounded throat to glossy hair crept a wave of vivid colour.

"Aunt Belinda," said Betty, turning her back and staring out through the open lattice, "there are times when I wonder I don't-bite you!"

"Of-course-not! What has love to do with marriage, dear aunt? Love-marriages are so unmodish-'tis like plough-boy and dairy-wench-hugging and kissing-faugh, so vulgar and nauseous! Nay, aunt, I desire a marriage la mode: 'Good-morrow to your ladyship, I trust your ladyship slept well?' A solemn bow, a kiss upon one extreme finger-tip!' O, excellently, sir, I hope you the same.' A smile and gracious curtsey-and so to breakfast. Now Major d'Arcy is a gentleman, rich, sufficiently handsome, and once a husband would be fairly easy to manage! Indeed I might do worse, aunt!"

"Nay child," sighed the Lady Belinda, as her niece arose, "talk how you will, but when love comes to thee, as come he will, why then, Ah me! what with thy ardent temperament, thy headstrong spirits, thy bustling health then-O then shall I tremble for thee!"

"Nay, prithee spare yourself, dear aunt, I can tremble for myself when needful." Saying which my lady went out into the garden.

Very slowly she went, her head bowed, her bright eyes grave and troubled; once she stopped to frown at a hollyhock and once to cull a rose only to drop it all unnoticed ere she had gone a dozen yards. Thus thoughtful and preoccupied she came to that secluded corner of her garden where, against a certain wall a ladder stood invitingly: mounting forthwith, she perched herself upon the broad coping and glanced down into the Major's orchard. The hutch-like sentry-box showed deserted but at the foot of the wall and almost immediately below her, Sergeant Zebedee stooped above a new-turned border of earth, busily engaged with a foot-rule. Lady Betty reached softly over and plucking an apricot, dropped it with remarkable accuracy into the very middle of the Sergeant's trim wig.

"Zooks!" he muttered, "axing your ladyship's pardon but-does your ladyship mean-Zounds! Axing your pardon again, my lady, but-wife! Does your ladyship mean to say--? Is't true, madam?"

"Pro-digious!" exclaimed the Sergeant, his eyes shining. "His honour was ever a great hand at surprises-ambuscades d'ye see, madam-ambushments, my lady, sudden onfalls and the like, and for leading a forlorn hope there was none to compare."

"A battle, mam!" The Sergeant sighed and shook reproachful head. "Twenty and three pitched battles, my lady and twelve sieges, not to mention sorties, outpost skirmishes and the like! 'Fighting d'Arcy' he was called, madam! Sixteen wounds, my lady, seven of 'em bullet and the rest steel--"

"'Fighting d'Arcy'!" she repeated. "It sounds so unlike-and looks quite impossible-see yonder!" And she turned towards where, afar off, the object of their talk limped towards them his head bent studiously above an open book from which he raised his eyes, ever and anon, as if weighing some abstruse passage; thus he presently espied my lady and, shutting the book, thrust it into his pocket and hastened towards her. Hereupon the Sergeant saluted, wheeled and marched away, yet not before he had noted the glad light in the Major's grey eyes and, from a proper distance, had seen him clasp my lady's white hand and kiss it fervently. Instantly the Sergeant fell to the "double" until he was out of sight, then he halted suddenly, shook his head, smacked hand to thigh and laughed:

In the 1600s, Balthasar Gracian, a jesuit priest wrote 300 aphorisms on living life called "The Art of Worldly Wisdom." Join our newsletter below and read them all, one at a time.