“How kind—how very kind you are!” uttered Arabella, in accents which could scarcely have been more mournful had she discovered him to have been a monster of cruelty.
“What is it, Miss Tallant?”
Bearing all the appearance of one rapt in admiration of the canvas before her, she said: “I daresay you may have forgot all about it, sir, but—but you told me once—that is, you were so obliging as to say—that if my sentiments underwent a change—”
Mr. Beaumaris mercifully intervened to put an end to her embarrassment. “I have certainly not forgotten it,” he said. “I perceive Lady Charnwood to be approaching, so let us move on! Am I to understand, ma’am, that your sentiments have undergone a change?”
Miss Tallant, obediently walking on to stare at one of the new Associates’ Probationary Pictures (described in her catalogue as “An Old Man soliciting a Mother for Her Daughter who was shewn unwilling to consent to so disproportionate a match”) said baldly: “Yes.”
“My surroundings,” said Mr. Beaumaris, “make it impossible for me to do more than assure you that you have made me the happiest man in England, ma’am.”
“Thank you,” said Arabella, in a stifled tone. “I shall try to be a—to be a comfortable wife, sir!”
Mr. Beaumaris’s lips twitched, but he replied with perfect gravity: “For my part, I shall try to be an unexceptionable husband, ma’am!”
“Oh, yes, I am sure you will be!” said Arabella naively. “If only—”
“If only—?” prompted Mr. Beaumaris, as she broke off.