"It isn't," snapped Dicky, jumping up, greatly excited by this insult to his pet invention; "when the works are established at Burwain you come down and you will see exactly what I mean."
"Oh, I shall come to Burwain with pleasure," said Mabel, sending a look in my direction. "I am very anxious to go to Burwain."
"Really," said Weston, and his cheeks flushed. After all, it appeared as though Cannington had overrated Dicky's absent-mindedness, for he was singularly alert and watchful. In my opinion he looked upon Lady Mabel Wotton as his own especial property, and therefore was not troubling himself to make a too impulsive proposal. Perhaps he was waiting to launch his airship before launching himself on the sea of matrimonial troubles. But he said no more, although the flush spoke volumes, for Lady Denham struck in quietly, in her placid voice.
"I thought Mr. Marr was coming to tea," she said, looking round slowly.
"I believe he's entering the house now," said Cannington, with the air of a listener. "I heard a motor drive up."
"A charming man," said Lady Denham lazily, "and devoted to Mabel."
"Oh, is he?" growled Weston, darting an angry look at the girl, which she sustained with a sweetly unconscious air. "He must----"
Weston appeared to be doomed to interruption, for just as he was beginning a diatribe on his rival, the door opened and a footman announced: "Mr. Wentworth Marr" in grandiloquent tones.
A man entered, and I gasped, as well I might. Mr. Wentworth Marr of London was none other than Mr. Walter Monk of Burwain.