Powder and Patch Read Online Free PDF Page A

on my soul; those soft lips—”
    “But,” interrupted Cleone, blushing, “my name escaped your memory. Confess, Mr Bancroft, it is indeed so?”
    Mr Bancroft waved his handkerchief with a superb gesture.
    “A name—bah! What is it? ’Tis the face that remains with me. Names do, indeed, escape me. How could a mere name conjure up this fair image?” He bowed slightly. “Your name should be Venus, madam.”
    “Sir!” Cleone was shocked. “I am Cleone Charteris, Mr Bancroft,” she said primly. Mr Bancroft was quite equal to the occasion.
    “My dear,” he said fondly, “do you think I did not know it?” Cleone shook her head.
    “You did not know it. And, indeed, I am prodigiously hurt and offended that you should have forgot me.”
    “Forgot you?” Mr Bancroft was derisive. “Forget the little nymph who so tormented me in my youth? Fie on you, madam!”
    “Oh, I did not! How can you say so, sir? ’Twas you who were always so provoking! Do you
    remember how we played? You and Jennifer and I and Philip—oh, and James.” “The games I remember,” he answered. “But Jennifer, no. And who are Philip and James?” “You’ve a monstrous short memory,” reproved Cleone. “Of course you remember Philip Jettan?”
    “How could I hope to remember anyone but your fair self?” he protested. “Could I be sensible of another’s presence when you were there?”
    Cleone giggled. She found Mr Bancroft’s compliments very entertaining and novel. “You are quite ridiculous, sir. And this is my home.”
    “Alas” sighed Mr Bancroft. “I would it were a mile away.” He opened the gate and held it for her, bowing. “May I pay my respects to Madam Charteris?” he begged. “If you please, sir,” said Cleone, eyes cast down.
    They found madam in the hall, speaking to one of the servants. When she saw the resplendent Mr Bancroft she gasped, and fell back a pace.
    Bancroft stepped forward, hat in hand.
    “I dare not hope for recognition, madam,” he bowed. “Henry Bancroft begs you will allow him to kiss your hand.”
    Madam Charteris extended it weakly.
    “Henry Bancroft? Gracious heaven, is it indeed you?”
    Bancroft kissed the tips of her fingers, holding them lightly to his mouth with two fingers and a thumb.
    “I met Mistress Cleone in the market place,” he told her. “Conceive my surprise, madam, my joyful ecstasy!”
    “Indeed!” stammered madam. “In the market place-to be sure.”
    “Mr Bancroft was so kind as to relieve me of my basket,” explained her daughter. “He pretends that he had not forgot me, mamma! But he cannot deceive me.” “He never sought to deceive you, Mistress Cleone. He spoke sooth when he said your image had remained with him throughout.”
    “Take him into the garden, Cleone,” begged madam. “He will wish to see your papa.” It had not occurred to Mr Bancroft, but he swallowed it with a good grace. “Will you conduct me thither, Mistress Cleone?” He bowed, one arm extended. Cleone laid the tips of her fingers on the arm.
    “Certainly, sir. We shall find papa among the roses.” They walked to the door. “The roses!” sighed Mr Bancroft. “A fit setting for your beauty, dear Cleone.” Cleone gave a little gurgle of laughter.
    “’Tis papa’s beauty they frame, sir, not mine,” she replied.
    Twenty minutes later Sir Maurice walked into the rose garden to find Bancroft and Cleone seated in an arbour engaged in close converse, while Mr Charteris nipped off the dead flowers nearby.
    Mr Charteris welcomed his visitor with a wave of his large scissors.
    “Good day, Sir Maurice! What a very pleasant, warm day it is, to be sure! Did you ride over to see us?”
    Sir Maurice drew him apart.
    “I met that—that rainbow in the village. What a plague is it? What does he do here?” Mr Charteris’ chubby countenance was wreathed in a great, sly smile, suspiciously like a grin.
    “Have you ever seen aught to equal it?” he chuckled. “’Tis young