"Rule, Britannia" once more thrilled the air as the whistler caught his sister in his arms.
"You're a brick, old girl." He kissed her. "Things will pan out all right after all. Now, shall I stay and bear a hand, or would you rather handle the precious couple all by yourself?"
There was a steely glitter in her eye—it boded ill for the absent ones—as she answered vindictively:
"I think I can manage alone!"
"I think you can, old girl!... Do you know," he added with mock severity, "when you look a little demon like that, I don't somehow fancy trusting my friend into your keeping. One good turn——; you know the rest. I believe I should be carrying that out by preventing his marrying you."
"He hasn't asked me yet!"
She spoke saucily with sparkling eyes; yet with a rosy blush on her face.
"That's true; perhaps he won't! There's hope for the poor beggar after all! He came all the way from the Mediterranean framing words how he should ask you to marry him, and he had a narrow escape on the dinner party night. Perhaps you killed him then by your nice behaviour; killed any desire he might have had to marry you." Then he added maliciously: "Let's hope so, for his sake."
"Dick! You are a perfect horror!"
"It was 'Dear Dick' a minute ago! But there—you're as uncertain as the weather."