“The deuce they are!” cried Sir James sharply with a sudden and angry comprehension.
“Yes. So of course the thing to do was to ask your intentions,” said the Terror firmly.
“Of course—of course,” said Sir James.
He looked at the Terror; and in spite of his anger his eyes twinkled. Then he added gravely: “My intentions are not only extremely serious but they’re extremely immediate. I’d marry your mother to-morrow if she’d let me.”
“That’s all right,” said the Terror with a faint sigh of relief. “Of course I knew you were all right. Only, it was the thing to do, with these silly old idiots talking.”
“Quite so—quite so,” said Sir James.
There was a pause; and Sir James looked again at the Terror tranquilly drinking his coffee, in a somewhat appealing fashion, for he had been suffering badly from all the doubts and fears of the lover; and the Terror’s serenity was soothing.
Then with a sudden craving for comfort and reassurance, he said: “Do you think your mother would marry me?”
“I haven’t the slightest idea; women are so funny,” said the Terror with a sage air.
Sir James pulled at his mustache. Then the compulsion to have some one’s opinion of his chances, even if it was only a small boy’s, came on him strongly; and he said: