“Well, I do not! I think he is a great deal worse even than George! In fact, I forbid you, Freddy, to admit him into your confidence about our engagement!”
Mr. Standen had a vague feeling that he was treading upon dangerous ground. Why Miss Charing should have become so suddenly agitated he had no idea; but he suspected uneasily that she had some scheme in mind which she had not yet disclosed to him. Her proposal seemed to him absurd, not to say preposterous; he pointed out to her that there was no fear that he might confide in Mr. Westruther. “Nothing to confide,” he said. “There ain’t an engagement.”
Miss Charing argued in vain. Acutely uncomfortable, more than a little alarmed, he clung obdurately to his refusal.
“It is such a little thing to do for me!” Kitty said.
“No, it ain’t. You can’t call making such a cake of myself a little thing!”
“You will not: there is not the least occasion for anyone to suppose that you have made a cake of yourself!”
“Well, it’s what they would think. What’s more, they’ll say I did it to get my fingers on the old gentleman’s rolls of soft.”
“No, because when nothing comes of the engagement they will perceive that they were mistaken!”
“Won’t perceive anything of the sort. Only thing they will perceive is that you’ve tipped me the double! Dash it, Kit—”
“Freddy, you would not condemn me to remain at Arnside, used like a—a—a drudge!”