The Marquis of Severn, who was generally supposed to haunt a small dark room somewhere near the kitchen stairs, called by courtesy the library, was plainly disconcerted by the position in which he found himself.
“I’m really very sorry, Jane; but I didn’t know you had a party on.” By this time he had succeeded in recognizing the two men. He gave Despencer a careless nod, and walked across the room to shake hands with Hammond. “How d’ye do? I see you know my women,” he remarked.
“My dear father,” Victoria remonstrated, “if you are not careful you will wake up some day and find yourself covered with moss. Mr. Hammond and I are all but engaged.”
“Victoria!” came in tones of stifled anguish from the marchioness.
“Don’t you believe her, Severn,” laughed Hammond. “I haven’t given your daughter the slightest encouragement—as yet.”
“Well, you should have my consent, if it counted for anything,” said the marquis, beginning to make his retreat from the room.
Again his wife’s voice arrested him.
“George, now you have come in, you must stay, you know. I should consider it very marked if you went away.”
“You don’t want me, Jane; I should only be in the way,” he objected, feebly.
“You underrate your social powers, George. Besides, I don’t ask you to talk to any one. I only want you to show yourself.”