“Alick, is this all chivalry?” inquired Colonel Keith, sitting by his fire, suffering considerably from his late drive, and hearing reports that troubled him.
“Very chivalrous, indeed! when there’s an old county property to the fore.”
“For that matter, you have all been canny enough to have means enough to balance all that barren moorland. You are a richer man than I shall ever be.”
“Without heiress-hunting?” said Alick, as though weighing his words.
“Come, Alick, you need not put on a mask that does not fit you! If it is not too late, take the risk into consideration, for I own I think the price of your championship somewhat severe.”
“Ask Miss Williams.”
“Ermine is grateful for much kindness, and is—yes—really fond of her.”
“Then, Colonel, you ought to know that a sensible woman’s favourable estimate of one of her own sex outweighs the opinion men can form of her.”
“I grant that there are fine qualities; but, Alick, regarding you, as I must necessarily do, from our former relations, you must let me speak if there is still time to warn you, lest your pity and sense of injustice should be entangling you in a connexion that would hardly conduce to make you happy or popular.”
“Popularity is not my line,” said Alick, looking composedly into the fire.