“Oh, this is dreadful,” panted her ladyship. “My dear young friend, I should have been too happy to give my consent, but dear Maude is as good as engaged to Mr Melton.”
“The doose she is,” said Sir Grantley, dropping his glass and looking blankly at his companion.
“Oh, yes,” exclaimed her ladyship, applying her scent bottle to her delicate nostrils. “I thought you must have seen it.”
“Humph! doosid provoking, don’t you know,” said Sir Grantley, calmly. “Made up my mind at last, and now too late.”
“I am so—so—sorry,” sighed her ladyship.
“Can’t be helped. I did mean to propose the week before last, but had to see my doctor. Melton, eh? Doosid poor, isn’t he?”
“Oh, really, Sir Grantley, I know nothing about Mr Melton’s prospects, but he is a Mowbray Melton, and a wealthy cousin is childless, and not likely to many.”
“What, Dick Mowbray? Married last week.”
“Mr Melton’s cousin?”
“To be sure he did, Lady Barmouth; and besides, Charley Melton is one of the younger branch. Poor as Job.”