“How do you know she doesn’t care for you?” asked Mary. A woman may be critical of her lover’s shortcomings, but at the very least he is good enough for every other woman.
“Well, she happens to care for somebody else,” answered his lordship, “she told me so herself.”
That would account for it.
“And is she willing to marry you?” inquired Mary.
His lordship shrugged his shoulders.
“Oh, well, you know, her people want it,” he replied.
In spite of her trouble, the girl could not help a laugh. These young swells seemed to have but small wills of their own. Her ladyship, on the other side of the door, grew nervous. It was the only sound she had been able to hear.
“It’s deuced awkward,” explained his lordship, “when you’re—well, when you are anybody, you know. You can’t do as you like. Things are expected of you, and there’s such a lot to be considered.”
Mary rose and clasped her pretty dimpled hands, from which she had drawn her gloves, behind his neck.
“You do love me, Jack?” she said, looking up into his face.