“Very likely, ma’am, but as I am sure that my aunt would obey you, however much her modesty was offended, I must ask you to refrain. The embroidered slippers which reached me last Christmas tried me high enough. I wonder what she thought I should do with them?”
The Duchess gave a cackle of laughter. “Lord bless you, she don’t think! You shouldn’t send her handsome gifts.”
“I send you very handsome gifts,” murmured Mr. Beaumaris, “but you never reciprocate!”
“No, and I never shall. You’ve got more than’s good for you already. What have you brought me this time?”
“Nothing at all—unless you have a fancy for a mongrel-dog?”
“I can’t abide dogs, or cats either. Fifty thousand a year if you’ve a penny, and you don’t bring me as much as a posy! Out with it, Robert, what did you come for?”
“To ask you whether you think I should make a tolerable husband, ma’am.”
“What?” exclaimed her grace, sitting bolt upright in her chair, and grasping the arms with her frail, jewelled hands. “You’re never going to offer for the Dewsbury girl?”
“Good God, no!”
“Oh, so that’s yet another idiot who’s wearing the willow for you, is it?” said her grace, who had her own ways of discovering what was going on in the world from which she had retired. “Who is it now? One of these days you’ll go a step too far, mark my words!”