Needs must, however, when the devil (by whom he understood Madeline) drives. He was not going to quarrel with his only brother and presumptive heir because he chose to marry a woman who was not to his taste. So he shrugged his shoulders—having finished his shaving and his reflections together—and determined to put the best possible face on his disappointment.
“Well, George,” he said to his brother at breakfast, “so you are going to marry Lady Croston?”
Bottles looked up surprised. “Yes, Eustace,” he answered, “if she will marry me.”
Sir Eustace glanced at him. “I thought the affair was settled,” he said.
Bottles rubbed his big nose reflectively as he answered, “Well, no. I don’t think that marriage was mentioned. But I suppose she means to marry me. In short, I don’t see how she could mean anything else.”
Sir Eustace breathed more freely, guessing what had taken place. So there was as yet no actual engagement.
“When are you going to see her again?”
“To-morrow. She is engaged all to-day.”
His brother took out a pocket-book and consulted it. “Then I am more fortunate than you are,” he said; “I have an appointment with Lady Croston this evening after dinner. Don’t look jealous, old fellow, it is only about some executor’s business. I think I told you that I am one of her husband’s executors, blessings on his memory. She is a peculiar woman, your inamorata, and swears that she won’t trust her lawyers, so I have to do all the dirty work myself, worse luck. You had better come too.”
“Shan’t I be in the way?” asked Bottles doubtfully, struggling feebly against the bribe.