“Certainly,” said Sir Tristram. “Eustacie, fetch the hartshorn.”
“She does not really want it, you know,” explained Eustacie. “She is jesting.”
“Nevertheless, fetch it,” said Sir Tristram.
“ Eh bien! ” Eustacie shrugged, and went away to look for it.
Miss Thane opened her eyes again, and looked at Sir Tristram with even more misgiving than before.
“Sarah,” said Sir Tristram, “I have a very important question to put to you. How many seasons have you spent at Almack’s?”
Miss Thane gazed at him with an expression of outrage in her face, and said: “Tristram, are you daring—actually daring—to choose this out of all other moments to make me an offer?”
“Yes,” replied Sir Tristram. “I am. Why not?”
Miss Thane sat up. “Have you no sense of romance?” she demanded. “I won’t—no, I won’t be proposed to with my hair falling down my back, a bandage round my head, and very likely a black eye as well! It is quite monstrous of you!”
He smiled. “Indeed, you will. You look delightfully. Will you marry me?”