I wish you could feel it.

And, besides, when you are wicked to him, you make him jerk, and if he does it often I shall have to send him away." The Maid of Galloway was indeed entirely correct.

For Maud Lindesay, accustomed all her life to the homage of many men, and having been brought up in a great castle in an age when chivalrous respect to women had not yet given place to the licence of the Revival of Letters, practised irritation like a fine art.

She was brimful of the superfluity of naughtiness, yet withal as innocent and playful as a kitten.
But Sholto, both from a feeling that he belonged to an inferior rank, and also being exceedingly conscious of his youth, chose to be bitterly offended.
"You mistake me greatly, Mistress Lindesay," he said in an uneven schoolboy's voice, to which he tried in vain to add a touch of worldly coldness; "I do not make love to every girl I meet, nor yet do I love them and leave them as you say.

You have been most gravely misinformed." "Nay," tripped the maid of honour, with arch quickness of reply, "I said not that you were naturally equipped for such amorous quests.