“It is not that I am not fond of him,” Letty explained. “I have always been fond of him, but conceive, ma’am, being required to marry a man whom you have known all your life! A man, too, of his years and disposition!”
“I perceive in you a victim of parental tyranny, child,” said Miss Merriot. “We consign Sir Anthony to perdition.”
Letty giggled at that. “Oh, never, ma’am! ’Tis a model of prudence and the virtues! And thirty-five years old at the very least!”
Mr Merriot flicked a speck of snuff from his sleeve.
“And to escape this greybeard, hence the young Adonis yonder, I suppose?”
Miss Letty hung her head. “He — he was not very young either, I suppose,” she confessed. “And I have been very silly, and wicked, I know. But indeed I thought him vastly more entertaining than Tony. You could not for your life imagine Tony excited, or in a scrape, or even hurried. And Gregory said such pretty things, and it was all so romantic I was misled.”
“The matter’s plain to the meanest intelligence, madam,” Mr Merriot assured her, “I discover in myself a growing desire to meet the phlegmatic Sir Anthony.”
His sister laughed. “Ay, that’s to your taste. But what’s the next step?”
“Oh, she goes with us along to London. Pray, ma’am, may we know your name?”
“’Tis Letitia Grayson, sir. My papa is Sir Humphrey Grayson of Grayson Court, in Gloucestershire. He is afflicted with the gout. I expect you may see him by and by, for I left a note for him, and he would be bound to find it.”