“But when I have made it—when!”—he said sceptically,—“even then—well, I shall only be, or have been, landlord of ‘Ye Ramme Inne.’” He looked at her, waiting for her to lift up his hopes with her gay balloons.
“Oh, that doesn’t matter! Leslie might be landlord of some Ram Inn when he’s at home, for all anybody would know—mightn’t you, hubby, dear?”
“Thanks!” replied Leslie, with good humoured sarcasm.
“You can’t tell a publican from a peer, if he’s a rich publican,” she continued. “Money maketh the man, you know.”
“Plus manners,” added George, laughing.
“Oh they are always there—where I am. I give you ten years. At the end of that time you must invite us to your swell place—say the Hall at Eberwich—and we will come—‘with all our numerous array.’”
She sat among her cushions smiling upon him. She was half ironical, half sincere. He smiled back at her, his dark eyes full of trembling hope, and pleasure, and pride.
“How is Meg?” she asked. “Is she as charming as ever—or have you spoiled her?”
“Oh, she is as charming as ever,” he replied. “And we are tremendously fond of one another.”
“That is right!—I do think men are delightful,” she added, smiling.