"No,—I don't know, I'm sure. I should think not, by Trant's way of mentioning her. 'An old friend,' he says, though, of course, that might mean anything."
"Married?"
"Yes. A widow."
"Dear me!" says Lady Chetwoode, distastefully. "A most objectionable class of people. Always in the way, and—er—very designing, and that."
"If she is anything under forty she will want to marry Guy directly," Cyril puts in, with an air of conviction. "If I were you, Guy, I should pause and consider before I introduced such a dangerous ingredient so near home. Just fancy, mother, seeing Guy married to a woman probably older than you!"
"Yes,—I shouldn't wonder," says Lady Chetwoode, nervously. "My dear child, do nothing in a hurry. Tell Colonel Trant you—you—do not care about letting The Cottage just at present."
"Nonsense, mother! How can you be so absurd? Don't you think I may be considered proof against designing widows at twenty-nine? Never mind Cyril's talk. I dare say he is afraid for himself. Indeed, the one thing that makes me hesitate about obliging Trant is the knowledge of how utterly incapable my poor brother is of taking care of himself."
"It is only too true," says Cyril, resignedly. "I feel sure if the widow is flouted by you she will revenge herself by marrying me. Guy, as you are strong, be merciful."
"After all, the poor creature may be quite old, and we are frightening ourselves unnecessarily," says Lady Chetwoode, in all sincerity.
At this both Guy and Cyril laugh in spite of themselves.