“Consent to what?” exclaimed Ivinghoe.
“To Dolores and Gerald! Oh dear, mamma said so much to me about not telling, but I did think Cousin Rotherwood knew everything. Please—”
Whatever she was going to ask was cut short by Ivinghoe’s suddenly striking on the table so as to make all the cups and saucers ring as he exclaimed—
“If ever there lived a treacherous Greek minx!” Then, “I beg your pardon, mother.”
He was off: they saw him dash out of the house. There was a train due nearly at this time, as all recollected.
“Papa, had not you better go with him?” said Lady Rotherwood.
“He will get on much better by himself, my dear,” and Lord Rotherwood threw himself back in his chair and laughed heartily and merrily, to the amazement and mystification of the two girls. “You will have a beauty on your hands, my lady.”
“Well, as long as it is not that horrid White girl—” said her ladyship, breaking off there.
“A very sorry Rebecca,” said her lord, laughing the more.
But the Marchioness rose up, and the two cousins had to accept the signal.