et--'twould never suit so fine a gentleman."
The Major flushed, seeing which she added: "Though indeed I do like you
infinitely so."

"And I," said he impulsively, his keen, bright glance appraising her
from head to foot, "I find you infinitely more--more--er--womanly as
'twere--but pray why so large a basket?"

"To carry eggs, sir, and butter and such. Some of your tenants are
miserably poor, Major John."

"Hum!" said he, thoughtfully. "And you buy them butter----"

"I make them butter, sir."

"Ha--do you, by Jove!" he exclaimed, his eyes shining.

"I make them butter with the aid of certain polite, perspiring, and I
greatly fear, profane gentlemen." The Major's smooth brow grew ruffled.

"Meaning whom, mam?"

"Well, to-day 'twas Sir Benjamin Tripp, the Marquis, Sir Jasper Denholm
and Mr. Marchdale. To see Sir Benjamin churning is--O 'tis rare, 'tis
killing!" And my lady stood still the better to laugh.

"Sir Benjamin Tripp--churning?" exclaimed the Major.

"So hot--so scant o' breath!" she gurgled. "And his ruffles
flip-flopping and his fine peruke all askew. To-morrow 'twill be Lord
Alvaston and Captain West and--O 'twill be pure!" and once again she
trilled with laughter until, beholding the Major's expression, she
stopped breathless and wiping her eyes on the back of slender hand like
any rustic lass. "Doth it not strike you as comical?" she demanded.

"O vastly!" said he, and sighed.

"If you had but seen Sir Benjamin, poor, dear, good creature--he did so
blow and pant!"

"Extreme diverting!" admitted the Major and sighed again.

"And pray, Major d'Arcy, do you always utter deep-fetched and doleful
breathings when amused? Smile, sir, this instant!" The Major obeyed,
whereupon she shook critical head: "'Twas much like a grimace caused by
an extreme anguish, but 'twill serve for one so preternaturally grave
as Major d'Arcy."

"Do I seem so grave, indeed?" he questioned wistfully.

"As the tomb, sir!" The Major blinked: walked a dozen yards or so in
silence and sighed deeper than ever, strove to disguise it in a cough
and failing, stood rueful. My lady stopped and faced him:

"Major John--Major d'Arcy, sir, look at me. Now prithee why all this
windy woe, this sighful sorrow--what evil thought harrows your lofty
serenity to-day?"

"I think," said he, hands tight-clenched upon his cane, "I am haunted
by a certain evening in the Mall!"

"O? Indeed? The Mall?"

"Aye, my lady, the