“You are at liberty to suppose anything you please, my dear Lord Fotheringay,” said Mr. Airey, with a smile.
“Come,” said Lord Fotheringay, adopting quite another tone. “Come, Airey, speaking as man to man, wasn’t it a confoundedly shabby trick for you to play upon me—getting me to tell you that I meant to marry that young thing—to save her from unhappiness, Airey?”
“Well?” said Airey.
“Well?” said Lord Fotheringay.
“You didn’t complete your sentence. Was the shabby trick accepting your confidence?”
“The shabby trick was trying to win the affection of the young woman after I had declared to you my intention.”
“That was the shabby trick, was it?”
“I have no hesitation in saying that it was.”
“Very well. I hope that you have nothing more to confide in me beside this—your confidences have so far been singularly uninteresting.”
Lord Fotheringay got really angry.