“Thanks, again. But you’ll excuse me, I trust! An actress! Come, I’m not a betting man—now, but I will wager you a hundred pounds to five that before two months after you have been married you will admit to me that I was right and that you were a very great fool, indeed!”
“I take you, sir,” said Lord Neville, grimly, and he drew out his pocketbook and carefully jotted down the bet. The old man’s eyes shone with a swift approval; it was a touch worthy of himself.
“And I’ll make you another that in the same period the girl herself will be as sorry that she married you.”
“I don’t take that,” said Lord Neville, coldly. “For, considering the blood that runs in my veins, any woman’s chance of happiness as my wife is a small one.”
CHAPTER XIII.
AN ACCEPTED OFFER.
The effect of this retort upon the marquis was fearful! His face, pale at all times, went livid, his eyes gleamed like ardent coals, his teeth came together with a click, and he drooped as if he had been struck; then in a moment or two he recovered himself and made an elaborate bow.
“Fairly hit,” he said, and his voice was very low and sharp. “Very well done, indeed. But you forgot when you taunted me with the unhappiness of my own married life, that you were admitting that I spoke with experience.”
Lord Neville flushed.
“By Heaven, sir,” he said, quietly, “you drove me too hard. I know little or nothing of your married life—I scarcely thought of it when I spoke——”