! for beauty--I say for beauty and--and--

"Beer!" suggested his lordship sleepily.

"No, no, Alvaston--'od, no sir--tush! Egad you quite put me out!
Where was I? Aye--the smiling country-side famous alike for beauty of
scene, of womenkind, of----"

"Horses!" said the Marquis.

"A plague o' your horses, sir!"

"But Ben----"

"I say I'll have none of 'em, sir! Here, dear lady, within these
Arcadian solitudes we exist like so many Hermits of Love, passing our
days immune from strife political and the clash of faction, remote from
the joys of London--its wose, its hem! I say its----"

"Dust!" sighed Sir Jasper.

"Aye, its dust, its----"

"Watchmen!" quoth Mr. Marchdale.

"Watchmen?" repeated Sir Benjamin doubtfully. "Y--es, its watchmen,
its woes, its----"

"Smells!" yawned Lord Alvaston.

"Smells?" gasped Sir Benjamin, "'Od requite me sir--smells, sir!"

"What smells?" enquired Lady Belinda, pausing abruptly on the threshold
with hands clasped. "Not fire? O Gemini, I shall swoon! Sir
Benjamin, your arm pray, positively I languish at the bare idea--fire?"

"No, no, madam," exclaimed Sir Benjamin, supporting her to a chair,
"here is no fire save the flames engendered of love, madam, for as I
was saying--

"Stay, dear Sir Ben," laughed Betty, "first tell me, have you all writ
me your odes?"

"'Od support me, yes faith, madam, we have writ you, rhymed you and
versified you to a man, and it hath been agreed betwixt us, one and
all, that hem! before these same odes, sonnets, triolets, vilanelles,
rondeaus, chants-royal, ballades and the like be humbly submitted to
you, we their authors shall hem! Shall----"

"Hold, my Benjamin, hold!" exclaimed Lord Alvaston. "Too much beating
'bout bush, Ben my boy. Dear Lady Bet, what poor Ben's been trying t'
say, wants t' say, but don't know how t' say 's simply this--that
having wrote odes 'n' things, we're minded t' read 'em t' each other
and pass judgment on 'em, 'n' whoever has--

"Clapped the firmest saddle on Pegasus," continued the Marquis, "will
be given----"

"He means whoso hath writ the best, Betty," Mr. Marchdale explained
with youthful gravity.

"Shall be given three laps and a fly-away start in the Wooing
Handicap," the Marquis continued.

"'Od--'Od's my life!" ejaculated Sir Benjamin indignantly, "We're not
in the stables now, Alton! Suffer me to explain clearly----"

"But--wooing handicap?" repeated Betty, wrinkling her brows in
puz