“Oh, no,” said the scapegrace with cheerful promptitude. “I want you to stay and meet my father. He should soon be here now.”
Such a charmingly easy acceptance of the situation took George aback. “But will your father want to meet me?” he said, fixing an eye sufficiently humorous upon the unknown gentleman.
The unknown gentleman, a large and genial one, was plainly threatened with a fit of laughter.
“Lord Duckingfield, let me introduce General Norris,” said the scapegrace coolly. Her air of taking everything for granted struck Lord Duckingfield and George Norris as exceedingly comic.
Bows were exchanged. Both men, however, maintained an eloquent silence, although to judge by a certain archness of look with which each regarded the other it was clear that their minds spoke the same language.
George, all the same, was suffering acutely from the sense of his position. Even if he was over head and ears in love with the little rogue, that was no reason for courting a public humiliation. “I think I must get back to The Laurels,” he said with all the firmness he could muster. “Good-by, Lady Elfreda.”
XLII
Fate was against George Norris.
Lady Elfreda persisted that he must stay and meet her father. The unwisdom of such a course was open and palpable, but he was a chivalrous fellow and, in spite of the facer dealt him by her wicked trick, he was still in the mood for adventure. Moreover, he was simply devoured by curiosity as to what would happen next.
For a man of average spirit it was worth running a risk of personal insult to learn the next turn in the game. What was to be the end of this amazing comedy? That question lurked in the genial eye of Lord Duckingfield. And the arch glance of that peer seemed to tell George Norris that to beat a retreat at such a moment would be conduct unworthy of a soldier, a sportsman and the possessor of a sense of humor.