“Tony,” she demanded shrewdly. “Have you been quarrelling with Sir Philip again? There’s generally some disturbing cause when you feel driven into asking me to marry you.”
“Well, why won’t you? He’d be satisfied then.”
“He? Do you mean your uncle?”—with some astonishment.
Tony nodded.
“Yes. Didn’t you know he wanted it more than anything? Just as I do,” he added with the quick, whimsical smile which was one of his charms.
Ann shook her head.
“You haven’t answered my question,” she persisted.
“Well,” admitted Tony unwillingly, “he and I did have a bit of a dust-up this morning. I’m sick of doing nothing. I told him I wanted to be an architect.”
“Well?”
“It was anything but well! He let me have it good and strong. No Brabazon was going to take up planning houses as a profession if he knew it! I’d got my duty to the old name and estate and the tenants, et cetera, et cetera. All the usual tosh.”