Antony flushed. An impudent chit, this. A girl to be taught her place, and that right early.
"I am to have, I believe," he said, with a fine air of disregard for any previous conversation, "the honour of escort--of show--of, er, of entertaining you for the day."
"That distinction is indeed yours," she replied gravely, "I have no doubt that I shall be escort--show--er, entertained most agreeably."
With this insulting remark she but half concealed a yawn and Antony's blood boiled within him.
"Come," chirped Uncle Julius with a fatuous chuckle, "we are getting along famously! What did I tell you? Yes, indeed!"
To this idiotic speech neither his nephew nor that nephew's new acquaintance made any further reply than two eloquent but totally ineffective glances. They were ineffective because the glance 7 as a medium of expression had not been included in Uncle Julius's aesthetic training.
"And what are you going to do first, hey? Where does the great day begin--see the town sights, I suppose?" this Imbecile old relative maundered on.
"It will give me great pleasure, if she wishes to see them," said Antony coldly, "to point out the various objects of local interest to Miss----"
"Good gracious!" Uncle Julius interrupted, "what's come over the boy? 'Miss,' indeed! Didn't I tell you that this is my old godmother's own daughter's stepdaughter? 'Miss!' Her name is Nette."
"Ah," said Antony.