“When are you going to marry Catherine, Archer?”
Major Clifton started violently, and looked at the lady in silent astonishment.
“Nay, pray answer me—my question is an earnest one.”
“My dear madam, you have taken me by surprise!”
“Necessary bluntness, Archer.”
“Very Oliver Cromwellish, madam, my mother.”
“You must excuse it, dear Archer. You did not open the subject to me, therefore, feeling more anxious upon that affair than any other on earth, I am forced to broach it to you. But you have not answered my question yet.”
“Dear madam—what—exactly—was it?”
“When are you going to marry Catherine?”
“Upon my honor, my dear madam, I have no intention of marrying Catherine; nor have I ever given her reason to suppose so.”