“In that she succeeded to a marvel,” murmured Geoffrey.
“And I had no idea, no more than the man in the moon, of the real state of the case; nor that that dark distinguished-looking young man was Sir Reginald himself. And has he come to stay? and where has he been all this time?” she asked with affectionate solicitude. “However, I’ll question you another time. Do run after him and obtain my forgiveness; I assure you I cannot leave the place without it,” planting her parasol in a typical manner in the sod and waving Alice to the quest.
Alice most unwillingly set out to find her husband; he was in the yard composing himself with a cigar, and personally despatching the carriage. When he had heard what she had to say he burst forth:
“Alice, I am astonished that you can ask such a thing. No, I certainly will not forgive them; and if you say another word on the subject, I warn you that I shall begin to swear. I feel literally boiling with rage. Nothing less than a swim in the river will cool me,” he observed, moving off.
“Stay one instant,” she cried, running after him. “What am I to say to them, then?”
“Say? Oh say that I am in such a frightful rage you are afraid to go near me.”
“But you are not quite so bad as all that, and I am not the least afraid of you,” she returned with a smile.
“Are you not?” he said, taking his cheroot out of his mouth and looking hard at her. “Well, you may go back and tell them that I forgive them this time for your sake, since you say that nothing else will induce the old woman to quit the premises.”
“You will not come back and say so yourself?” she asked insinuatingly.
“Not for ten thousand pounds; my forgiveness is but hollow. I should like nothing better than to give that young booby a thrashing that would surprise him, and to duck his mother in the pond. Such are my savage instincts. That is what I would do if I were a North American Indian and you were my squaw,” he concluded with a grim smile.