A FAMILY AFFAIR
A few hours later, Stirling Deane sat at a small round dining-table, side by side with the father of the girl to whom he had been engaged for exactly three days. His hostess, the Countess of Nunneley, and her daughter, Lady Olive, had only just left them. It had been a dinner absolutely en famille.
"Draw up your chair, Deane, and try some of this port," Lord Nunneley said.
"Thank you," replied Deane, "I'll finish my champagne, if I may."
"Just as you like," his host answered. "I notice you are very careful never to mix, Deane. Perhaps you are right. There's nothing like being absolutely fit, and you fellows in the city must have a tremendous lot on your minds sometimes. I suppose, however prosperous you are, you never have a day without a certain amount of anxiety?"
"Never," Deane assented quietly.
Lord Nunneley, who had a great reputation as a peer of marked sporting proclivities, crossed his legs, and, leaning back in his chair, lit a cigarette.
"I never thought," he continued, "that I should be glad to give Olive to anyone—to anyone—you won't mind if I say it—outside our own immediate circle. Of course, I know your people were all right. I've ridden to hounds with your father many a time, but when a family drifts into the city, one naturally loses sight of them. You will find me a model father-in-law, though, Deane. I never borrow money, I wouldn't be a director of a public company for anything in the world, and I haven't a single relation for whom I want a berth."
Deane smiled. His manner was natural enough, but only he knew how difficult he found it to continue this sort of conversation—to keep his attention fixed upon the somewhat garrulous utterances of his prospective father-in-law.
"You are very wise to steer clear of all that sort of thing, sir," he said. "The city is no place for men who have not been brought up to it, and the days of guinea-pig directors are over."