“Well, you needn’t be so ungallant about it,” retorted Sarah. “And it’s no use giving me any more champagne, because I shan’t drink it. Filthy stuff.”
Her companion raised his eyes to heaven.
“ ‘Filthy stuff,’ ” he breathed. “And I brought you here, because this is the only place in London that’s got any left. ‘Filthy stuff.’ I daresay it doesn’t appeal to you, but why blaspheme? Never mind. When we’re married, I’ll——”
“I tell you,” said Sarah, “I want to marry George Fulke.”
“I’m not surprised,” said Pardoner. “George Fulke is a most desirable young man. I should think, as a husband, he’d feed right out of your hand. But there you are. You’ve refused him three times—on your own confession: and now it’s too late.”
“It’s not too late at all,” said Miss Vulliamy. “I’m lunching with him to-morrow, and, if I’m nice to him——”
“For heaven’s sake,” said Pardoner, “don’t go and play with fire. I know what these lawyers are. If you went and got engaged to somebody else, there’d be the devil to pay before we could straighten it out. Which reminds me—the sooner our engagement’s announced——”
“But I don’t want to marry you,” wailed Sarah.
Pardoner clasped his head in his hands.
“Look here,” he said. “I don’t know how many proposals you’ve had, but——”