“Rot me if I understand you,” said his lordship.
“Yet you find me in the article of choosing a necklace.”
“Damme, Whitworth, are there no women nearer than the North Pole? Is there no difference between gallantry and lunacy?”
“I am thinking of marriage, my lord.”
“Oh, Lud, yes, we’ve all to come to that. But we don’t come to it happily. We don’t think of it with our faces like the August sun. I’m the last man to believe your smirking face covers thoughts of marriage. I know too well what it does cover.”
“Indeed? And what?”
“What? Burn me if you are not the most exasperating man alive. Have you no recollections of a wager?”
“I am bound to make you an admission, Godalming. Occupied with other matters, I had for the moment forgot our wager. But you need have no fears. I pay my debts.”
“Pay? Where in the devil’s name have you been hiding yourself if you don’t know you’ve won the wager?”
“Won it?” cried Sir Harry.