He bit his lip.
“O! I daresay Charlie was no Joseph,” he said.
“O!” I answered, much enlightened; “I beg your pardon. Very blind of me, to be sure. I may be a bastard none the less, you mean? Well, it is in the reckoning; but, for all your assumption, sir, you seem to dread the test more than I do.”
“Well, frankly, I think I do,” he said. “Truth, you see, is often a confoundedly unwelcome sort of visitor—like a poor relation—very upsetting to the conveniences. I notice, by the way, her name’s pretty familiar on your tongue. Do you hold it compatible with your very strict worship of her to suborn a young lady under the nose of her guardian?”
If I had startled him, he had retorted effectually. He sniggered a little, though with an aggravated sound, witnessing my astonishment. But I at least was in no mood for compromises.
“Miss Christmas has engaged herself to me,” I said shortly.
He gave a soft whistle, raising his eyebrows.
“Indeed?” he said drily. Then he looked at me searchingly. “She is not of age. It is in my power, of course you know, to refuse my consent.”
There was a significance in his tone that I could not misunderstand.
“Not even for that bribe, sir,” I said. “If needs must be, I’ll win to both name and wife without your help.”