“Well, it seems a pity to disappoint him.”
“Then you won’t contradict it?”
“No, I never write to the papers.”
Hammond bent forward respectfully.
“Thank you. May I kiss your hand?”
“If you will promise not to be sentimental,” said Victoria, yielding gracefully.
“I think I can promise that,” said Hammond, with secret bitterness. And he bowed over the white fingers, wondering if this woman really wished to be his wife, while Victoria wondered in her turn why on earth this man wanted to marry her.
They were not left long in their mutual embarrassment. The marchioness was burning with impatience to learn the result of her arduous campaign, and as soon as she thought she had given the lovers time enough to adjust matters she returned to the spot, Despencer being admitted to share the anticipated triumph.
“So you are still here!” the mother exclaimed, with innocent surprise. “I hope that girl has not been shocking you very much, Mr. Hammond?”
“Well, she has, rather,” he answered, dryly. “She has promised to be my wife!”