“The devil!”
“Nay, Sir, not enough courage for that!”
“Peggy, sweetlips, will you be mine the Tuesday after Transfiguration?”
“Lud! No, Sir Percy! that will I not!”
“When will you, then, love?”
“Next Christmas.”
“Split it,” cries he, imploringly, “make it the first quarter of the October moon?”
“Well,” she answers, looking up to where her father and mother stand in the doorway, “an Daddy and my Lady Mother consent, you shall have your way, Sir.”
The young man glances up, following Peggy’s eyes, springs to his feet, raises her from the old divan and leads her before them.
“My Lord and Your Ladyship,” says he, “will you consent, as Peggy has, to our being made man and wife on October the fifth? and will you give My Lady and my unworthy self your blessing?”