Léonie, You Will Do Well To Consider.

I Do Not Want A Boy. I Only Want Monseigneur!

I Comfort Myself With The Reflection That Your Wife Will Possibly Be Able To Curb Your Desire--i Admit, A Natural One For The Most Part--to Exterminate Your Fellows.

Miss Grantham Gave A Shriek. 'you Have Trifled With Me!' She Said, Into The Folds Of Her Handkerchief. 'you Promised Me Marriage, And Now You Mean To Cast Me Off For Another!

I Don't Know What You May Have Seen Fit To Tell Her, Venetia, But So Far As I Understand It You Could Think Of Nothing Better To Do Than To Beguile Her With Some Farrago About Wishing Damerel To Strew Rose-leaves For You To Walk On!" Damerel, Who Had Resumed His Seat, Had Been Staring Moodily Into The Fire, But At These Words He Looked Up Quickly. "rose-leaves?" His Eyes Went To Venetia's Face, Wickedly Quizzing Her. "but My Dear Girl, At This Season?" "be Quiet, You Wretch!" She Said, Blushing.

His Grace Was At Her Side, And Lifted Her Down From The Chair. "my Enfant," He Said , "duchesses Do Not Dance On Chairs, Nor Do They Call Their Brothers 'imbécile'." Léonie's Twinkled Irrepressibly. "i Do," She Said Firmly.