“If I had told you that I wanted him.”
“I make my bow,” Everitt returned. “Well, as it happens, the best man in London for her purpose is coming here on Monday morning.”
“That,” said Mrs Marchmont, “is what I should have expected.”
“He’s a first-rate model, and an awful ruffian.”
“He can’t do any harm.”
“Then, in spite of my character of him, you think Miss Lascelles would wish him to be sent on to her?”
Mrs Marchmont smiled.
“I am sure she would—coûte que coûte.”
“In that case, unless he is hopelessly drunk, I will forward him.”
“That is really good of you,” she said, getting up; “and to prove that we are not ungrateful, we will go away this minute, and allow you to begin another cigarette in peace. I shall tell Kitty that you have made a solemn vow to provide the man she wants on Monday morning.”