Blakeney had spoken in his usual airy manner, and was even now busy readjusting the set of his perfectly-tailored coat.
"Perhaps you cannot quite trust me ?" laughed Sir Percy gaily.

"I seemed too lukewarm just now." "No; it's not that, Blakeney!" said Deroulede quietly at last.

"There is no mistrust in me, all the mistrust is on your side." "Faith!--" began Sir Percy.
"Nay! do not explain.

I understand and appreciate your friendship, but I should like to convince you how unjust is your mistrust of one of God's purest angels, that ever walked the earth." "Oho! that's it, is it, friend Deroulede?
Methought you had foresworn the sex altogether, and now you are in love." "Madly, blindly, stupidly in love, my friend," said Deroulede with a sigh.

"Hopelessly, I fear me!" "Why hopelessly ?" "She is the daughter of the late Duc de Marny, one of the oldest names in France; a Royalist to the backbone ..." "Hence your overwhelming sympathy for the Queen!" "Nay! you wrong me there, friend.