"Then perhaps you wish me to state my views to my nephew also," said the knight somewhat testily: "as he might also object."
"But a nephew, Sir Christopher," urged the lady,—"a nephew is not a brother."
"Very true," replied Blunt, as if some grand truth had just been made apparent to him. "And yet it appears, Julia," he added, in a coaxing tone, "that we have each a relation to whom we would rather not mention the matter—until after it was over."
"Oh! you killing man—what would you have me understand by that remark?" cried Miss Mordaunt.
"Simply that we should——"
"Should what, dear Sir Christopher?"
"Should be married privately—or run away to Gretna Green," answered the knight. "And now the truth is out."
"Oh! naughty—naughty man!" exclaimed Julia, casting on her swain one of her most bewitching smiles: but at the same time she imagined to herself all the excitement attending a run-a-way match to Gretna—the rapidity of travelling—the bustle that would be excited at the way-side inns—the sensation that must arise in the fashionable world—the paragraphs in the newspapers—the éclat attached to such a proceeding—and the importance with which her reappearance in town, after the union, would be attended:—of all this she thought—and the knight's proposal was therefore most welcome to her; for, while she contemplated the agreeable side of the picture, she never once reflected on the ridicule and absurdity that must attach themselves to such a step on the part of two persons of the respective ages of Sir Christopher Blunt and herself.
"Well, dearest, what are you thinking of?" asked the knight.
"Of what you were saying, dear Sir Christopher," murmured the lady in a languishing tone.