“And you knew all this time that Miss Avon and her father had left the neighbourhood?” said Lord Fotheringay, through his store teeth.
“Tubbe sure I did,” said Brian. “But Miss Avon didn’t live in one of the Castles of the ould quality that your lardship was so particular ready to explore.”
Lord Fotheringay felt that his knowledge of the world and the dwellers therein had its limits.
It was at Lord Fotheringay’s bedside that Harold said his farewell to his father the next day. Lord Fotheringay’s incipient rheumatism had been acutely developed by his drenching of the previous afternoon, and he thought it prudent to remain in bed.
“You’re going, are you?” snarled the Father.
“Yes, I’m going,” replied the Son. “Lord and Lady Innisfail leave to-morrow.”
“Have you asked Miss Craven to marry you?” inquired the Father.
“No,” said Harold.
“Why not—tell me that?”
“I haven’t made up my mind on the subject of marrying.”