“You’ve guessed my father, sir?”
“Why yes, it’s the remarkable old gentleman who claims to be the lost Viscount, I believe. You told me once your father would surprise me.”
“Did I, sir? Well, that is he. I think you are one of those who have little faith in his claim.”
“To say truth,” remarked Sir Anthony, “I care very little whether he proves to be Barham or not.”
“But I care, Sir Anthony. If he is Barham indeed, and I am thus a woman of birth noble enough ...” She found it was impossible to continue.
“Then you would marry me?” Sir Anthony prompted. “Is that it?”
She nodded. It was not in her nature to deny she cared for him.
“And do you know what you will do if he is not Tremaine of Barham?” inquired Sir Anthony conversationally.
She made a gesture of fatalism. “I shall be off on my adventuring again, sir.”
“You may call it adventuring if you please, but I believe I’m a staid creature. You will marry me just the same, you see.”