“What has that to say to anything, pray? I wish you will—”
“Important,” said Dolphinton. “Good thing to marry an Earl. Be a Countess.”
“This, I collect, is a declaration!” said Biddenden sardonically. “Pretty well, Foster, I must say!”
“Are you being so obliging as to make me an offer, Dolph?” enquired Miss Charing, in no way discomposed.
Lord Dolphinton nodded several times, grateful to her for her ready understanding. “Very happy to oblige!” he said. “Not at all plump in the pocket—no, not to mention that! Just say—always had a great regard for you! Do me the honour to accept of my hand in marriage!”
“Upon my word!” ejaculated Biddenden. “If one did not know the truth, one would say you were three parts disguised, Foster!”
Lord Dolphinton, uneasily aware of having lost the thread of a prepared speech, looked more miserable than ever, and coloured to the roots of his lank brown locks. He cast an imploring glance at Miss Charing, who at once rose, and went to seat herself in a chair beside him, patting his hand in a soothing way, and saying: “Nonsense! You said it very creditably, Dolph, and I perfectly understand how it is! You have offered for me because your Mama ordered you to do so, haven’t you?”
“That’s it,” said his lordship, relieved. “No wish to vex you, Kitty—really very fond of you!—but must make a push!”
“Exactly so! Your estates are shockingly mortgaged, and your pockets are quite to let, so you have offered for me! But you don’t really wish to marry me, do you?”
His lordship sighed. “No help for it!” he said simply.