Inarticulate clucking sounds from George, indicative of protest, caused Sir Richard to wave a hand towards the Madeira. “Help yourself, George, help yourself!”
“I must say, I think it most unkind in you to speak to your brother like that,” said Lady Wyndham. “Not but what you are selfish, dear Richard. I’m sure I have said so over and over again. But so it is with the greater part of the world! Everywhere one turns one meets with nothing but ingratitude!”
“If I have done Richard an injustice, I will willingly ask his pardon,” said Louisa.
“Very handsomely said, my dear sister. You have done me no injustice. I wish you will not look so distressed, George: your pity is quite wasted on me, I assure you. Tell me, Louisa: have you reason to suppose that Melissa expects me to—er—pay my addresses to her?”
“Certainly I have. She has been expecting it any time these five years!”
Sir Richard looked a little startled. “Poor girl!” he said. “I must have been remarkably obtuse.”
His mother and sister exchanged glances. “Does that mean that you will think seriously of marriage?” asked Louisa.
He looked thoughtfully down at her. “I suppose it must come to that.”
“Well, for my part,” said George, defying his wife, “I would look around me for some other eligible female! Lord, there are dozens of ’em littering town! Why, I’ve seen I don’t know how many setting their caps at you! Pretty ones, too, but you never notice them, you ungrateful dog!”
“Oh yes, I do,” said Sir Richard, with a curl of the lips.