“Oh, it’s very jolly making love to married women,” said Lord Deepmere, “because they can’t ask you to marry them.”
“Is that what the others do, the spinsters?” Newman inquired.
“Oh dear, yes,” said Lord Deepmere; “in England all the girls ask a fellow to marry them.”
“And a fellow brutally refuses,” said Madame de Bellegarde.
“Why, really, you know, a fellow can’t marry any girl that asks him,” said his lordship.
“Your cousin won’t ask you. She is going to marry Mr. Newman.”
“Oh, that’s a very different thing!” laughed Lord Deepmere.
“You would have accepted her, I suppose. That makes me hope that after all you prefer me.”
“Oh, when things are nice I never prefer one to the other,” said the young Englishman. “I take them all.”
“Ah, what a horror! I won’t be taken in that way; I must be kept apart,” cried Madame de Bellegarde. “Mr. Newman is much better; he knows how to choose. Oh, he chooses as if he were threading a needle. He prefers Madame de Cintré to any conceivable creature or thing.”