Rowley Dacres, shook
her head reprovingly. She was young and very pretty; and Teddy
Vere--known among certain of his friends as the Fledgeling--was not
averse to seeing her make a pretence of being angry.
"Don't let me hear you speak so flippantly of matrimony," she began
severely; "and for your future edification, it is not the man but the
_woman_ who swears to obey."
"Then why in Heaven's name don't you do as I bid you?"
"As _you_ bid me! Come, that's rather strong form, I must say! You're
not Rowley, are you?"
"No, worse luck for me, I'm not," and the good-looking fair face put on
such an intensely woebegone expression that the resolution of the
beholder gave way.
Poor boy! it really was dreadfully unlucky that be should be so
desperately in love with her, more especially since Rowley had taken to
be absurdly jealous of him, as if--now that she was married--she could
ever think seriously of anybody. Only after you'd been brought up--to
cut your teeth, as one might say--flirting, well, it was just a little
bit hard to give it up at twenty-three. Besides, it wasn't as if she
meant anything--except in Rowley's case she never had; and as far as
Teddy went, scores of mothers had said before her, dozens of times, that
they were only too delighted to see their sons attach themselves to a
married lady--it kept them out of harm's way; so that instead of
mischief, it was a service she was doing Teddy.
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