"It was the other, when we spoke of the Days before," Sir Francis reminded him, but flatly, and his face had fallen.
Here was more serious matter. Not that flaunting extravagant queen, not Bessie with her plump prettiness, her cheap wiles, her nets that were spread in the sight of man; but Deleah, the dainty, charmingly pretty child. The marriage would be none the less hideously undesirable on the social side, and from the point of view of the family; but it would be infinitely more difficult to stop. Sir Francis, in his widowed estate, with twenty years more of experience on his head, was yet not so old but that he could picture how deeply, how dangerously in love a young man of his brother's age could imagine himself with Deleah Day.
Reggie was recalling attention to himself by a loud snort of contempt. "I'm not very likely to have thought of Bessie when Deleah was on the spot," he said.
"Except that the younger sister has a more attractive appearance, all the objections remain the same in either case."
"The Days are down-pins, I admit," Reggie said dispassionately; "and the father and brother were rotten; but no one'll think of those things when they look at Deleah. I'm not afraid."
Sir Francis contemplated his young brother meditatively. "Let us know precisely how we stand, Reggie. Are you actually engaged to this girl?"
"Oh, yes! I'm engaged to her, right enough."
"What does being 'engaged right enough' mean exactly?" There had been a something indicating a want of confidence in Reggie's tone.
"There's no doubt about me. I'm running straight."
"But the girl? What has she to say to it?"