"He'd get tired of her in a week. I know him so well," she said, in a low voice.
"Exactly. In less than a week, perhaps, and then——" he shrugged his shoulders.
"And she would be the Viscountess Leyton, and, of course, the Countess Ferrers when the old man died?" for Lottie knew her peerage pretty well.
"Yes, and we must prevent that," he said, looking at her.
She made an impatient gesture.
"I don't care about the title, and all that," she said; "why should I? If he had been going to marry Miss Graham, or any other of the swells, why—why it would be all right, and I shouldn't complain; but a servant! Blair, too! Why, he's as proud as Lucifer, really, though people wouldn't think it! He'd be wretched for life! He'd be fit to cut his throat a week afterward, and he's too good for that sort of thing."
There was a pause. She drank some of the stout, for her lips felt dry, then she said, more to herself than him:
"Yes, he's far too good! Poor Blair! Why, the very first diamonds I ever had he gave me. He'd have given me the top brick off the chimney if I'd asked for it! You won't believe it, because you don't believe anything, Mr. Ambrose, but I tell you I'd do anything for Lord Blair! I never told you when I first met him?"
"No," said Austin Ambrose.