"And how about Miss Denis, Quentin? you've not given your promise," said Dr. Parks once more returning to the charge.
"I'll promise you one thing, doctor," drawled the host, who was beginning to get tired of his persistence. "I'll not marry her, now that you have let me behind the scenes about her bewitching mother, and I'll promise you, that I'll go over and call to-morrow, and see if I can discover any traces of a Grecian ancestry in Miss Denis's face and figure."
"You are incorrigible. I might as well talk to the wall; there's only one hope for the girl, and that's a poor one."
"Poor as it is, let us have it."
"A chance that she may not be taken like twenty-three out of every two dozen, with fickle Jim Quentin's handsome face!"
"Where has Lisle gone to?" he added, looking round.
"Into the verandah, or to bed, or out to sea! The latter is just as likely as anything; he did not approve of the conversation, he thinks that ladies should never be discussed," and he shrugged his shoulders expressively.
"Quite one of the old school, eh?" said the elder gentleman, raising his eyebrows and pursing out his under-lip.
"Quite," laconically.
"By-the-bye, Quentin, I daresay you will think I'm as bad as Mrs. Creery, but who is this fellow Lisle, and what in the name of all that's slow is he doing down here?—eh, who is he?" leaning over confidentially.