“You carve very badly, Francis,” she told him demurely.
“My dear,” he said, “thank heavens we shall be able to afford a butler! By-the-bye, I told your father this morning that I was going to marry you, and he didn't seem to think it possible because he had two million pounds.”
“Braggart!” she murmured. “When did you see my father?”
“He came to my rooms in the Temple soon after I arrived this morning. He seemed to think I might know where you were. I dare say he won't like me for a son-in-law,” Francis continued with a smile. “I can't help that. He shouldn't have let me go out with you in a punt.”
There was a discreet knock at the door. Brooks made his apologetic and somewhat troubled entrance.
“Sir Timothy Brast is here to see you, sir,” he announced. “I ventured to say that you were not at home—”
“But I happened to know otherwise,” a still voice remarked from outside. “May I come in, Mr. Ledsam?”
Sir Timothy stepped past the servant, who at a sign from Francis disappeared, closing the door behind him.