“Yes. Thought you were at home. Just sent Rolph to speak to you.”
“To speak to me? What about?”
“Oh, I thought it best, you see, being my brother, and—er—as you like Glynne, and—er—”
“What in the name of fortune are you stammering about, Jack?” said the major, sharply. “Why, you don’t mean—”
“That he has proposed for Glynne.”
“Damn his impudence!”
“Don’t talk nonsense, Jem,” said the baronet, testily. “He has proposed, and I have given my consent.”
“But I always thought he was to marry that second cousin, Marjorie Emlin.”
“Doesn’t look like it. Never seemed very warm when they dined here.”
“But—but it’s so unexpected, so sudden. And Glynne?” cried the major, flushing, and bringing his heavy brows down over his eyes; “she hasn’t accepted him?”