Marguerite curled her proud lip, erected her head and deigned no other reply.
“Unquestionably you also have conquered a title, Marguerite; when you are married, will you place me on your visiting list, Lady William Daw?” asked Cornelia Compton, with an arch glance.
“Cease,” said Marguerite, peremptorily, “if I were to be married, which is utterly out of the question, it would not be to a schoolboy, let me assure you!”
“If you ‘were to be married, which is utterly out of the question’—why, you don’t mean to tell us that you have forsworn matrimony, Marguerite? What do you intend to do? go into a cloister? Nonsense! in nine month you will marry,” said Colonel Compton.
“I marry? ha! ha! ha! there must be a great improvement in the stock of men! Where is the unmarried son of Adam that I would deliberately vow to love, honor and obey? Why I should forswear myself at the altar! Of all the single men I meet, the refined ones are weak and effeminate, and the strong ones are coarse and brutal! I’ll none of them!” said Marguerite, with a shrug of her shoulders.
“Thank you for making my husband a sort of presumptive exception,” said Mrs. Compton.
“Will you call upon Lord William, this morning, papa?” inquired Miss Compton.
“My dear, believe me, the opportunity will scarcely be allowed. His lordship will not stand upon ceremony, I assure you. I expect to hear his name announced every moment.”
And then, as in confirmation of Colonel Compton’s predictions, a servant entered and handed a card.
“Humph! where have you shown the gentleman, John?”