“The young man in the opposite seat,” and she coloured and laughed. “He wore an enormously thick ulster, and so I wasn’t a bit hurt.”
“And afterwards?”
“We had all to get out and wait at a tiny station for more than an hour—such a bare miserable——”
“Do you take sugar?” interrupted Mrs. Fenchurch, with the tongs in her hand.
“Yes, if you please, aunt—one lump.”
“Then here is your tea at last, and some nice hot toast,” said Colonel Fenchurch, approaching. As he sat down beside her he said, “And how did you and the young man continue the acquaintance so violently begun?”
“He asked me if I was hurt—that was all.”
“The least he could do! Why, bless my soul, he might have knocked all your front teeth down your throat, or put out one of your eyes—and then he would have had to marry you, eh?”
“I am sure he wouldn’t have agreed to that,” she answered gaily.
“He might go further, and fare worse,” rejoined her uncle, with a proud and significant glance at his wife, who had now approached the sofa.