"What!" Basil scowled with a brow of thunder. "Does he dare to----"
"He dares nothing," interposed Patricia hurriedly, and placed her pink palm over his mouth to prevent further speech. "But I am certain that he wants to marry me."
"At his age. Ridiculous!"
"Why ridiculous? Older men than the Squire have married."
Basil's arm grew loose round her waist. "Do you admire him, then?"
"Of course. I both admire him and love him. Look how good he has been to me. I hadn't a shilling when he took me from The Home of Art."
"Patricia, do you mean to say----"
She stopped him again, and this time his mouth was closed with a kiss. "I mean to say that you are a dear old stupid thing, darling. I can't help myself if your uncle admires me."
"It shows his good taste. All the same----"
"All the same, I'm going to marry you, my dear. But we'll both be turned out of the house, I'm sure of that."