“So then,” concluded Miss Grantham, with reminiscent pleasure, “I said that after all I preferred to marry Adrian.”
A moan from her aunt brought her eyes round to that afflicted lady. “Mablethorpe instead of twenty thousand pounds?” demanded her ladyship, in quavering accents. “But you told me positively you would not have him!”
“Of course I shall not!” said Miss Grantham impatiently. “At least, not unless I marry him in a fit of temper,” she added, with an irrepressible twinkle.
“Deb, either you are mad, or I am!” announced Lady Bellingham, lowering the vinaigrette. “Oh, it does not beat thinking of! We might have been free of all our difficulties! Ring the bell; I must have the hartshorn!”
Deborah looked at her in incredulous astonishment. “Aunt Eliza! You did not suppose—you could not suppose that I would allow that odious man to buy me off?” she gasped.
“Kit might have bought his exchange! Not to mention the mortgage!” mourned her ladyship.
“Kit buy his exchange out of—out of blood-money? He would prefer to sell out!”
“Well, but, my love, there is no need to call it by such an ugly name, I am sure! You do not want young Mablethorpe, after all I...”
“Aunt, you would not have had me accept a bribe!”
“Not an ordinary bribe, dear Deb! Certainly not! But twenty thousand—Oh, I can’t say it!”