"La, Mr. Septimus; how you startled me!" she cried. Then, without a
tremor of the lip or a pause for breath-taking, she presented me:
"Colonel Tarleton; Mr. Septimus Ireton, of Iretondene in Virginia." And
next to Dick: "Mr. Richard; my very good friend, Mr. Ireton."
'Twas done so cleverly and with such an air that even Dick, who had
known her from childhood, was struck dumb with admiration, as his face
sufficiently advertised. And, indeed, I had much ado to play my own part
with any decent self-possession, though I did make shift to bow stiffly,
and to say: "I see I should have brought the Iretondene title deeds with
me to make you sure that I am not my rebel cousin John, Mistress
Margery. Your servant, Colonel Tarleton; and yours, Mr. Richard."
Dick's bow was an elaborate hiding of his tell-tale face; but the
colonel's was the slightest of nods, and I could feel the sloe-black
eyes of him boring into my very soul.
Had my lady given him but a moment's time I make no doubt he would have
come instantly at the truth and the little farce would have been turned
into a tragedy on the spot. But she gave him no time. The spinet in the
ball-room alcove was tinkling out the overture to a minuet, and she laid
the tips of her dainty fingers on the colonel's arm.
"This will be ours to walk through, will it not, Colonel Tarleton?" she
said, playing the sprightly minx to the very climax of perfection. Then
she dipped us a curtsy. "_Au revoir_, gentlemen.
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