“’Tis indeed a strange thing, and one to make one suspicious of her, Thomas,” she wrote, “with all her bold ways, to suddenly put on such decorum.  We are all sure ’tis from some cunning motive, and wait to find out what she will be at next.  At first none believed she would hold out or would know how to behave herself, but Lud! if you could see her I am sure, Tom, both you and Mr. Langton would be disgusted by her majestic airs.  Being dressed in woman’s clothing she is taller than ever, and so holds her chin and her eyes that it makes any modist woman mad.  If she was a Duchess at Court she could not be more stately than she now pretends she is (for of course it is pretence, as anyone knows).  She has had the vile cunningness to stop her bad langwidg, as if she had never swore an oath in her life (such deseatfulness!).  And none can tell where she hath learned her manners, for if you will beleave the thing, ’tis said she never makes a blunder, but can sweep a great curtsey and sail about a saloon full of company as if she was bred to it, and can dance a minuet and bear herself at a feast in a way to surprise you.  Lady Maddon says that women who are very vile and undeserving are sometimes wickedly clever, and can pick up modist women’s manners wondrously, but they always break out before long and are more indecent than ever; and you may mark my Lady Maddon’s words, she says this one will do the same, but first she is playing a part and restraining herself that she may deseave some poor gentleman and trap him into marrying her.  It makes Lady Maddon fall into a passion to talk of her, and she will flush quite red and talk so fast, but indeed after I see the creature or hear some new story of her impudent victories, I fall into a passion myself—­for, Tom, no human being can put her in her place.”

It must be confessed that the attitude of the recipient of these letters was by no means a respectful one, they being read and re-read with broad grins and frequent outbursts of roaring laughter, ending in derisive or admiring comments, even Bob Langton, who had no objection to pretty Lady Betty’s oglings and summing of him as a dangerous beau, breaking forth into gleeful grinning himself.

“Hang me if some great nobleman won’t marry her,” cried Tom, “and a fine lady she’ll make, too!  Egad, it almost frightens one, for all the joke of it, to think of a woman who can do such things—­to be a madder romp than any and suddenly to will that she will change in such a way, and hold herself firm and be beat by naught.  ’Tis scarce human.  Bet says that her kinsman, my Lord Twemlow, has took her in hand and is as proud of her and as fidgety as some match-making mother.  And the county people who would not have spoke to her a year ago, have begun to visit Wildairs and invite her to their houses, for all the men are wild after her, and the best way to make an entertainment a fine thing is to let it be known that she will grace it.  Even Sir Jeof and his cronies are taken in because they shine in her glory and are made decent by it.”