“That thought has been absorbing me for the last twenty miles,” said Sir Anthony imperturbably.
“And me in peril!” cried the affronted Miss Grayson.
Sir Anthony raised his eyes from the chicken and looked coolly across at her. “Oh, were you in peril?” he inquired. “I came merely to put an end to an indiscretion, as I thought.”
“Peril! At the hands of such a Monster!” Miss Grayson was indignant. “I wonder, sir, that you need ask.”
Sir Anthony poured wine for himself and Mr Merriot. “My dear Letty,” said he, “you have so frequently assured us that Mr Markham is a model of all the virtues that I did you the honour to respect your judgment.”
Miss Grayson turned scarlet, and looked as though she were about to cry. “You didn’t, Tony! You are just being — disagreeable. And he’s not a model of virtue! He is an odious brute, and — and so are you!”
“Tut, child, the gentleman’s hungry, and will be the better for his chicken,” said Mr Merriot.
“I am not a child!” flashed Miss Grayson, and was off in a swirl of skirts to Miss Merriot’s side. From the shelter of Miss Merriot’s arm she hurled a tearful defiance. “And I would sooner go to Gretna with that Monster than marry you, Sir Tony!”
Sir Anthony remained unmoved. “My dear Letty, if this piece of absurdity was to escape my attentions, believe me it was not in the least necessary. So far as I am aware I have never asked you to marry me. Nor have I the smallest intention of so doing.”
This pronouncement brought Miss Grayson’s head up from Kate’s shoulder. In round-eyed astonishment she gazed at Sir Anthony, busily engaged with the wing of a chicken.