“N-no,” said Sir Grantley, with the most gentlemanly insouciance. “Try again.”
“I give it up,” said her ladyship, smiling.
“Now, Maude, it’s your turn,” was heard faintly from the croquet lawn.
“Yas,” said Sir Grantley, bowing slightly. “That is the lady. My dear Lady Barmouth, will you allow me humbly and respectfully, don’t you know, to propose for your charming daughter’s hand?”
Lady Barmouth sank back in her seat as if struck with horror.
“Anything the matter?” said Sir Grantley, looking puzzled.
“Did—did I understand you aright, Sir Grantley?” faltered her ladyship.
“Aright? Oh, yas. Sorry to be so sudden and upset you, but thought you expected it, don’t you know.”
“My dear Sir Grantley; my dear young friend,” exclaimed her ladyship, laying her hand in a sympathising fashion upon his arm. “This is too painful.”
“Well, suppose it is,” said Sir Grantley, calmly. “Just lost one daughter too—charming girl, Diana—but it must come, Lady Barmouth. I’ve been a bit free and got rid of some money, but there’s about nine thou a year left, and then I shall have the Mellish estates by and by!—another three thou—might settle that on her, don’t you know.”