"Yes; I've seen 'em. Got it pretty straight, too, all things considered."
"And that sort of thing simply flies. It will be in the New York papers to-morrow, and in the London ones the day after. We always get those things cabled over there. We know about the elopements and the queer things that happen in America when we don't hear of anything else. Within forty-eight hours they'll be talking of it at the Rangers' dépôt in Sussex—and at Heneage—and all through his county—and at the Horse Guards. You see if they aren't! You've no idea how people have their eye on him. And when they hear the wedding has been put off for a scandal they'll have at their heels all the men who've hated him—and all the women who've envied her—"
He leaned his shoulders against the mantelpiece, his hands behind his back. "Pooh! That sort of dog can only bark."
"No; that's where you're wrong, Peter. In England it can bite. It can raise a to-do around their name that will put a dead stop to his promotion—that is, the best kind of promotion, such as he's on the way to."
"The deuce take his promotion! Let's think of—her."
"That's just what I thought you'd do, Peter; and with all your advantages—"
"Drop that, Drusilla," he commanded. "You know you don't mean it. You know as well as I do that I haven't a chance—even if I wanted one—which I don't. You're not thinking of me—or of her. You're thinking of him—and how to get him out of a match that won't tend to his advancement."
"I'm thinking of every one, Peter—of every one but myself, that is. I'm thinking of him, and her, and you—"
"Then you'll do me a favor if you leave me out."
She sprang to her feet, her little figure looking slim and girlish.