“Why, of course, you must. Dear Lady Pomfret was dragged here by me. Frown at me, not at her. I plead for youth and beauty.”
Just then, Youth and Beauty peered in through the open window. It was daring, audacious, a violation of inviolate tradition. But what will you? The hapless pair were beside themselves with misery and despair. Each gripped the other’s hand.
Sir Geoffrey was hard put to it. Courtesy to a guest strained him to breaking-point. He bowed silently. Margot continued:
“You are a true lover, Sir Geoffrey. You must know that love is free.”
The Squire shied at the adjective. And this interruption had befogged him.
“Free love,” he repeated. “God bless my soul! What next?”
Lady Pomfret explained, deprecatingly.
“Margot means, Geoffrey, that love is free to choose, to select——”
Margot continued with animation:
“Jill has the right to pick her Jack. If Jack is willing”—she paused and looked at Fishpingle—“and I understand that he is—”