"
"Depend upon it," said Harriet, "Lady Herries said Sir Ambrose. No
doubt it was Sir Ambrose Watford."
"Nay, Harriet, I demur to that," said her father drolly. "I flatter
myself I was a more personable youth than to be likened to Watford
with his swollen nose. What like was your cavalier, Aura?"
"Indeed, sir, I cannot describe him. I was so much terrified lest he
should speak to me that I had much ado to mind my steps. I know he
had white gloves and diamond shoe-buckles, and that his feet moved by
no means like those of Sir Ambrose."
"Aura is a modest child, and does credit to her breeding," said Betty.
"Thus much I saw, that the young gentleman was tall and personable
enough to bear comparison even to you, sir, not more than nineteen or
twenty years of age, in a laced scarlet uniform, as I think, of the
Dragoon Guards, and with a little powder, but not enough to disguise
that his hair was entire gold."
"That all points to his being indeed young Belamour," said her father;
"age, military appearance, and all--I wonder what this portends!"
"What a disaster!" exclaimed Harriet, "that my sister and I should have
been out of the way, and only a chit like Aura be there to be presented
to him."
"If young ladies _will_ defy Cupid," began her father;--but at that
moment Corporal Palmer knocked at the door, bringing a basin of soup
for his master, and announcing "Supper is served, young ladies.
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