“If I have been unkind to Lady Withers,” said Mr. Carteret, “I am going to be much more so.”
Barclay looked challengingly. “What do you mean?” he demanded.
“Lady Withers,” said Mr. Carteret, “is a widow, aged forty-four,—you can verify that in Burke,—a man-eater by temperament and habit. You are twelve years younger than she, with a great deal more money than is good for you. Whether she intends to marry you I don’t pretend to know, but it is not unlikely. At any rate, you are unquestionably on the list as a source of income and supply.”
Somewhat to Mr. Carteret’s surprise, Barclay listened calmly.
“Do you really think Lady Withers considers me eligible?” he asked.
“She does, if she has any true conception of your securities.”
Barclay smiled a pleased smile. “I shall not stop to discuss Lady Withers’s age,” he said. “Have you any objections to her aside from that?”
Mr. Carteret looked at him with outward calm, but inwardly he was filled with horror. “Are you engaged to her?” he asked.
“I am not,” said Barclay.