“Yes, Maude,” he continued. “He’s a gentleman, and a man of honour, though he’s poor like the rest of us.”
“Thank God—thank God!” murmured Maude, as the words made her heart throb with joy.
“His father was a gentleman too and a man of honour, though a bit wild. He was my junior at Eton. I like Charley Melton, and though I should hate the man who tried to rob me of my little pet here, I don’t think I should be very hard on him.”
“Yap—yap—yap!” came from the back drawing-room, and the old gentleman looked inquiringly at his child.
“It is a pet dog,” she said contemptuously, “that Sir Grantley Wilters has brought as a present for me.”
“Don’t have it, my dear,” said the old gentleman, eagerly. “I wouldn’t. He’s a miserable screw of a fellow, that Wilters. I don’t like him, and her ladyship’s always trying to bring him forward. She’ll be wanting to make him marry you next.”
“Didn’t you know, papa?” cried Maude.
“Know, my darling? Know what?”
“He has proposed to mamma for my hand.”
“Then—then—then,” cried the old man, indignantly, “he—he—he shan’t have it. If my Maude is to be nurse to any man, she shall be nurse to me. He—he don’t want a wife.”