“Champagne?”
“Oh no—Miss Bibby does not touch such things, I know.”
“Give me a bottle of champagne?”
Kate handed him one and he tucked it under his arm.
“Forgive my spleen, old girl,” he said, his hand held out. “I fear there’s a good deal of the unvarnished brute in me.”
“Yes, you want a tamer, my boy,” said Kate, squeezing his hand.
[p258]
“Well,” said Hugh, “I’ll go and make my expiation. Again. I seem to be always doing it. I tell you what it is, K, if I injure that girl again I’ll have to marry her.”
He went swinging off at a comfortable jog-trot down the path, his bottle sticking out from beneath one arm.
A look of thoughtful surprise dawned in Kate’s eyes.
“And upon my soul you might do worse,” she said—“you might do worse.”