y 'tis a rare fine wine, colonel, a mighty choice claret truly (and
the colonel bowed low, and smiled a rugged purple smile in spite of
himself, for his claret _was_ choice), all won't do when Venus
beckons--when she beckons--ha, ha--all won't do, Sir--at the first
flutter of a petticoat, and the invitation of a pair of fine eyes--fine
eyes, colonel--by Jupiter, they're off--you can't keep 'em--I say your
wine won't keep 'em--they'll be off, Sir--peeping under the hoods, the
dogs will--and whispering their wicked nonsense, Dr. Walsingham--ha,
ha--and your wine, I say--your claret, colonel, won't hold 'em--'twas
once so with us--eh, general?--ha! ha! and we must forgive 'em now.'

And he shoved round his chair lazily, with a left-backward wheel, so as
to command the window, for he liked to see the girls dance, the little
rogues!--with his claret and his French rappee at his elbow; and he did
not hear General Chattesworth, who was talking of the new comedy called
the 'Clandestine Marriage,' and how 'the prologue touches genteelly on
the loss of three late geniuses--Hogarth, Quin, and Cibber--and the
epilogue is the picture of a polite company;' for the tambourine and the
fiddles were going merrily, and the lasses and lads in motion.

Aunt Becky and Lilias were chatting just under those pollard osiers by
the river. She was always gentle with Lily, and somehow unlike the
pugnacious Aunt Becky, whose attack was so spirited and whose thrust so
fierce; and when Lily told a diverting little story--and she was often
very diverting--Aunt Becky used to watch her pleasant face, with such a
droll, good-natured smile; and she used to pat her on the cheek, and
look so glad to see her when they met, and often as if she would say--'
I admire you a great deal more, and I am a great deal fonder of you than
you think; but you know brave stoical Aunt Becky can't say all that--it
would not be in character, you know.' And the old lady knew how good she
was to the poor, and she liked her spirit, and candour, and honour--it
was so uncommon, and somehow angelic, she thought. 'Little Lily's so
true!' she used to say; and perhaps there was there a noble chord of
sympathy between the young girl, who had no taste for battle, and the
daring Aunt Becky.

I think Devereux liked her for liking Lily--he thought it was for her
own sake. Of course, he was often unexpectedly set upon and tomahawked
by the impetuous lady; but the gay captain put on his scal