“If I understand you, my lord——” Then he stopped. “No, sir, we won’t quarrel to-day. As you say that—that affair is over and done with, and if Miss Marlowe were to come back, I promise that I will not, as you delicately suggest, desert Lady Grace for her.”
“Yes, that’s what I hinted,” said the marquis, coolly. “I’m glad to hear there’s no danger of it. Men are such fools—young ones especially—that one never knows.”
“I may be a fool, but I’m not a blackguard!” said Cecil, almost beside himself.
“I hope not,” assented the marquis, deliberately, “and now I suppose you mean to have the marriage quickly?”
“That rests entirely with Lady Grace,” said Lord Cecil.
“Of course. I hate long engagements; besides, I’ve an absurd fancy for seeing her married before I die. Not that I think of dying just yet, you’ll be sorry to hear. Better get the affair settled speedily. You can live in one of the places in the country; I don’t care where it is, as long as you don’t expect me to come and live with you,” and he smiled sardonically.
Lord Cecil remained silent.
“You’d better take the Barton place. I hate it; but I hate all of them, so that is not much of a reason.”
“Barton is too large, is it not, sir?” said Lord Cecil.
“That’s my business,” retorted his lordship, with something like a snarl. “I don’t mean you to be a pauper, or to live with a couple of servants and on bread and cheese. You have done as I wished you to do, though not until you were compelled,” and he smiled, significantly, “and I will do what is requisite in the way of money—for her sake.”