“They’re afraid of you. They’re afraid of annoying you and making you worse. So they go to work very cautiously, and, somewhere or other, they get their information. They know a great deal about you. They know you’ve been with those ladies to the dome of Saint Paul’s and—where was the other place?—to the Thames Tunnel.”
“If all their knowledge is as accurate as that it must be very valuable,” said Lord Lambeth.
“Well, at any rate, they know you’ve been visiting the ‘sights of the metropolis.’ They think—very naturally, as it seems to me—that when you take to visiting the sights of the metropolis with a little nobody of an American girl something may be supposed to be ‘up.’” The young man met this remark with scornful laughter, but his companion continued after a pause: “I told you just now that I cultivate my ignorance, but I find I can no longer stand my suspense. I confess I do want to know whether you propose to marry Miss Alden.”
On this point Lord Lambeth gave his questioner no prompt satisfaction; he only mused—frowningly, portentously. “By Jove they go rather too far. They shall have cause to worry—I promise them.”
Percy Beaumont, however, continued to aim at lucidity. “You don’t, it’s true, quite redeem your threats. You said the other day you’d make your mother call.”
Lord Lambeth just hung fire. “Well, I asked her to.”
“And she declined?”
“Yes, but she shall do it yet.”
“Upon my word,” said Percy, “if she gets much more scared I verily believe she will.” His friend watched him on this, and he went on. “She’ll go to the girl herself.”
“How do you mean ‘go’ to her?”