“And did you?”
“Oh! Of course I did.”
Sir Leicester gives a nod, approving and confirmatory. Very proper. The iron gentleman, having said that he would do it, was bound to do it. No difference in this respect between the base metals and the precious. Highly proper.
“And pray has he done so?”
“Really, Lady Dedlock, I cannot make you a definite reply. I fear not. Probably not yet. In our condition of life, we sometimes couple an intention with our—our fancies which renders them not altogether easy to throw off. I think it is rather our way to be in earnest.”
Sir Leicester has a misgiving that there may be a hidden Wat Tylerish meaning in this expression, and fumes a little. Mr. Rouncewell is perfectly good-humoured and polite, but within such limits, evidently adapts his tone to his reception.
“Because,” proceeds my Lady, “I have been thinking of the subject, which is tiresome to me.”
“I am very sorry, I am sure.”
“And also of what Sir Leicester said upon it, in which I quite concur”—Sir Leicester flattered—“and if you cannot give us the assurance that this fancy is at an end, I have come to the conclusion that the girl had better leave me.”
“I can give no such assurance, Lady Dedlock. Nothing of the kind.”