“In execrably bad taste,” said she.
I bowed.
“In fact, most offensive. But that is not the worst. From my son’s further statements it appears that on one occasion, at least, he found you and Miss Foster engaged in what I can only call—”
I raised my hand in protest. The Countess took no notice.
“What I can only call romping.”
“Romping!” I cried.
“A thing not only atrociously vulgar at all times, but under the circumstances—need I say more? Mr. Carter, you were engaged in chasing my son’s future bride round a table!”
“Pardon me, Lady Mickleham. Your son’s future bride was engaged in chasing me round a table.”
“It is the same thing,” said Lady Mickleham.
“I should have thought there was a distinction,” said I.