“Oh, I don’t think she has any fortune at all!” replied Mr. Beaumaris coolly. “She only said she had to put me in my place.”
He came under her eagle-stare again. “Put you in your place? Are you going to tell me, sir, that she ain’t tumbling over herself to catch you?”
“Far from it. She holds me at arm’s length. I cannot even be sure that she has even the smallest tendre for me.”
“Been seen in your company often enough, hasn’t she?” said her grace sharply.
“Yes, she says it does her a great deal of good socially to be seen with me,” said Mr. Beaumaris pensively.
“Either she’s a devilish deep ’un,” said her grace, a gleam in her eye, “or she’s a good gal! Lord, I didn’t think there was one of these nimmy-piminy modern gals alive that had enough spirit not to toadeat you! Should I like her?”
“Yes, I think you would, but to tell you the truth, ma’am, I don’t care a button whether you like her or not.”
Surprisingly, she took no exception to this, but nodded, and said: “You’d better marry her. Not if she ain’t of gentle blood, though. You ain’t a Caldicot of Wigan, but you come of good stock. I wouldn’t have let your mother marry into your family if it hadn’t been one of the best—not for five times the settlements your father made on her!” She added reminiscently: “A fine gal, Maria: I liked her better than any other of my brats.”
“So did I,” agreed Mr. Beaumaris, rising from his chair. “Shall I propose to Arabella, risking a rebuff, or shall I address myself to the task of convincing her that I am not the incorrigible flirt she has plainly been taught to think me?”
“It’s no use asking me,” said her grace unhelpfully. “It wouldn’t do you any harm to get a good set-down, but I don’t mind your bringing the gal to see me one day.” She held out her hand to him, but when he had punctiliously kissed it, and would have released it, her talon-like fingers closed on his, and she said: “Out with it, sir! What’s vexing you, eh?”