“She was Miss Weedon till an hour ago; now she’s Mrs. Wantage! I brought her in from the lodge this morning, attended the wedding, and saw the runaway couple off ten minutes ago.”
“Bless my soul!” Sir Richard gave a little stagger. “What! eh? You don’t mean it! I say, what a fellow you are for being in the thick of rows and bothers!”
“Oh, no bother to me,” replied his nephew carelessly; “I’m only a chauffeur, not a chaperon; but I must say I’m awfully glad Wantage brought it off!”
“And what a haul—half a million!”
“Yes; but, upon my honour, I don’t believe he was thinking of the money. She’s an uncommonly nice girl.”
Sir Richard’s face expressed scornful incredulity.
“Pity you didn’t go in for her yourself, eh!” Then, after a meditative pause, “I expect there will be a holy row! What will her mother say?”
“That remains to be heard! She wanted her daughter to marry that drunken little sweep, Vippen—he’s staying there now.”
“Lord Vippen?”
He nodded.