Lord Tony suddenly found himself in a very nice moral dilemma. Oh! here was a fix and no mistake!
“There is nothing to tell yet, Mr. West,” he blurted out.
“What! when I saw you both philandering behind the party hand-in-hand, and—and—left you the dog-cart on the strength of it!”
“Oh, I only took Miss West’s hand for a moment—to—to ratify a promise.”
“Promise of what?” impatiently.
“A promise of her friendship,” stammered his companion. It was a moment of mental reservations.
“Oh!” with an expression of deepest scorn. “That wasn’t the way we made love when I was a young man. What a miserable milk-and-watery set you are! Friendship!”
“Yes, I know there is a falling off,” admitted Lord Tony, with humility. “But we are not as energetic in any way as the last generation. We prefer to take things easy, and to take our own time. Miss West is young—‘marry in haste and repent at leisure,’ you know,” he pursued collectedly. “You must not rush Miss West, you know. She—she—all she asks for is time.”
“Did she name any time?”
“Er—well—no.”