“Nonsense, Mr. Morville!” said his wife briskly.
“No use making plans for Ger, ma’am!” said the Viscount. “Always does as he chooses! Assure you!”
“Besides, if you mean Selina Daventry, Mama, we can’t have her at Stanyon!” said Martin.
“Daventry!” ejaculated Mr. Morville, deriving some obscure pleasure from this disclosure. “Ha!”
“What, not one of Arun’s daughters?” exclaimed the Viscount. “Not the red-headed one who makes such a figure of herself in the Park?”
“Ay! Drives a team of showy bone-setters! Lord, she’d lame every horse in the stables! Gervase, you can’t offer for that girl!”
“No, no, I won’t!” said Gervase, interrupting a lowtoned conversation with Miss Morville to respond to this appeal.
“The Duke of Arun’s daughter,” stated the Dowager, “would make St. Erth a very eligible wife! I do not say that I have made up my mind to the match, for I do not approve of deciding such matters hastily, and I know of several other young females whom I should not object to see at Stanyon.”
“Well, well!” said Mr. Morville, refreshing himself with a pinch of snuff. “Arun’s girl, eh? I should not like the connection for either of my sons, but I daresay it will do very well!”
“Don’t think m’father would either,” said the Viscount reflectively. “Bad blood there, devilish bad blood!”