“I want your consent to my marriage,” said Lord Cecil.
If he had expected the marquis to express surprise by word or gesture he was disappointed.
“Your marriage?” he said, quietly. “You intend taking my advice, I see. You are wise; Lady Grace is desirable in every way. I’d marry her myself, if I were younger.”
Lord Cecil colored, but he did not flinch.
“I am sorry, sir,” he said.
“That I am not younger?” put in the marquis, with a sardonic smile.
“Well, yes, I’m sorry for that, if youth would make you any happier, my lord,” said Lord Neville, and he spoke sincerely. The marquis eyed him keenly. “But it is not Lady Grace, sir. I think her a most beautiful and charming lady, of whom I am quite and entirely unworthy.”
“For once I agree with you,” was the caustic comment.
Lord Neville inclined his head.
“But there is another reason why I cannot venture to ask Lady Grace to be my wife. I do not love her.”