"I see you have it, too," he said, smiling. "Burman just handed me this."
"Isn't it perfectly disreputable!" exclaimed Mrs. Drelmer.
"Why? I only hope I'll have as much interest in life by the time I'm that age."
"But how will your sister take it?" asked Mauburn; "she may be afraid this will knock my title on the head, you know."
"Oh, I see," said Percival; "I hadn't thought of that."
"Only it can't," continued Mauburn. "Hang it all, that blasted old beggar will be eighty-nine, you know, in a fortnight. There simply can't be any issue of the marriage, and that—that blasted—"
"Better not try to describe her—while I'm by, you know," said Mrs. Drelmer, sympathetically.
"Well—his wife—you know, will simply worry him into the grave a bit sooner, I fancy—that's all can possibly come of it."
"Well, old man," said Percival, "I don't pretend to know the workings of my sister's mind, but you ought to be able to win a girl on your own merits, title or no title."
"Awfully good of you, old chap. I'm sure she does care for me."