"Only one, sir! Though his lordship has kept me informed as to her welfare and progress."
"Such sublime patience argues either indifference or stupendous faith, boy!"
"Sir—sir," cried I, stirred at last. "Oh, sir, how may love be—how endure without faith?"
"Yours is a strange love, Peregrine, exceeding patient and long-suffering! You practically compelled her to—accept his lordship's offer, I believe?"
"Uncle—Uncle Jervas," I stammered, "how should you know this?"
"I have the honour to number the Earl of Wyvelstoke among my few friends, he writes to me also—occasionally. You are an immensely confiding lover, and your patience is almost—superhuman."
"However, my waiting is nearly over, I shall see her soon—soon!"
"In company with every buck, Corinthian and Macaroni in London,
Peregrine."
"Still—I shall see her, sir!"
"If the reports of her singing, her wit and beauty are but half true,
Peregrine, she will be the rage, the universal toast."