“Does Mr. Marten know Lindsay?”
“Yes. He regards him merely as one of the thousand nice young men one meets in London society.”
“He is not aware of his attachment for you?”
She raised her hands in horror. Clearly, Hugh Marten was master in his own household. His daughter might be the apple of his eye; but he brooked no interference with his perfected schemes, even from her.
“At any rate,” persisted Power, “he will not compel you to accept Prince Montecastello tomorrow, or next day. Can’t you hold out until, say, your twentieth birthday?”
“This morning I promised to decide within a month.”
“And what did he say?”
“He smiled, and remarked that I chose my words carelessly. Evidently I meant ‘accept’ when I said ‘decide.’”
“Well, then, we have a month. Great things can be achieved in that time. Fortresses which have taken ten years to build have fallen in a day. So be of good cheer. I begin the attack at once.”
“Will you please tell me what you intend doing?”