“Nothing!” she said hastily. “Oh, dear, there is Mr. Epworth!”
“A common bow in passing will be enough to damp his pretensions,” said Mr. Beaumaris. “If that does not suffice, I will look at him through my glass.”
This made her give an involuntary gurgle of laughter, but an instant later she was serious again, and evidently struggling to find the words with which to express herself.
“What very awkward places we do choose in which to propose to one another!” remarked Mr. Beaumaris, guiding her gently towards a red-plush couch. “Let us hope that if we sit down, and appear to be engrossed in conversation no one will have the bad manners to interrupt us!”
“I do not know what you must think of me!” said Arabella.
“I expect I had better not tell you until we find ourselves in a more retired situation,” he replied. “You always blush so delightfully when I pay you compliments that it might attract attention to ourselves.”
She hesitated, and then turned resolutely towards him, tightly gripping her sunshade, and saying: “Mr. Beaumaris, you do indeed wish to marry me?”
“Miss Tallant, I do indeed wish to marry you!” he asserted.
“And—and you are so wealthy that my—my fortune can mean nothing to you?”
“Nothing at all, Miss Tallant.”