His appearance in the drawing-room was the signal for a preparatory giggle, and then an, only too apparent, ignoring of his presence, accompanied by meaning glances towards the conservatory. He took the hint, and went in that direction, to find Lady Isabelle weeping her eyes out on a divan.
"There's no use crying over spilt milk," he said to her, cheerfully; "but you must admit it's a deuce of a mess."
"How can I ever sufficiently thank you, Mr. Stanley?" she exclaimed, looking up at him in undisguised admiration. "You were splendid."
"Oh, not at all—but I'll admit your mother's announcement rather staggered me."
"I tried to prepare you."
"I'm afraid you didn't succeed," he replied coldly, for he felt that he had been ill-used.
"I assure you," she said, "if I'd had the remotest idea of what mamma intended doing, I would have faced all possibilities and told her the truth, rather than have exposed you to what has occurred. I can never, never forgive myself for it."
"It was really more my fault than yours. I gave your mother permission to announce our engagement whenever you gave your consent."
"I never gave it!" she cried.
"Of course," he continued, "I never supposed that your mother would so far forget herself as to force you."