“Well, my lord,” says I, “they have now reta’en this person, and he is bound for Tyburn even now.”
“Very glad indeed to hear it,” says my lord, right heartily. “And had this been the case a week ago, I should have been spared some shattering of sleep.”
The old gentleman here regarded me with a singular twinkling keenness that required great sturdiness to meet.
“Very nice of you, my lord, to cherish such sentiments as these towards my future husband,” says I, with the most brazen boldness.
“Your future what!” cries out my lord, jumping up as though some imp had stuck a pin into his chair.
“My future husband,” says I, winningly.
For the best part of a minute a highly comic silence took him. His brow was puckered into creases, as is the way when one is seeking for a jest that is concealed.
“Ha! ha!” he crackled presently, “very good jest indeed, my dear, very good indeed!”
“I am sure I am charmed, my lord, that you appreciate it,” I says, “but I have my doubts whether this affair is quite such a jest for poor young Mr. Anthony.”
“Not if you marry him, I daresay,” says his lordship naughtily.