"Well, then, what are you thinking of?"

"I was thinking that Lord Thirsk is, by the majority of women,
considered handsome."

"What kind of women have that idea?"

"Why, mother, I don't exactly know. If I go into my tailor's, I am told
about his elegant figure, if into my shoemaker's, I hear of his small
feet, if to Baylor's glove counter, some girl fitting my number seven
will smilingly inform me that Lord Thirsk wears number four. And if you
see him walking or driving, he always has some pretty woman at his
side."

"What by all that? His feet are fit for nothing but dancing. He could
not take thy long swinging steps for a twenty-mile walk; he couldn't
take them for a dozen yards. His hands may be small enough, and white
enough, and ringed enough for a lady, but he can't make a penny's worth
with them. I've heard it said that if he goes to stay all night with a
friend he has to take his valet with him--can't dress himself, I
suppose."

"He is always dressed with the utmost nicety and in the tip-top of the
fashion."

"I'll warrant him. Jane told me he wore a lace cravat at the Priestly
ball, and I have no doubt that his pocket handkerchief was edged with
lace. And yet she said, 'No woman there laughed at him.'"

"At any rate he has fine eyes and hair and a pleasant face."