“What, pway?”
“That you’d been getting married!”
“Mawied! To whom?”
“Oh, sir; you need scarcely ask. Of course to the Honourable and very beautiful Miss Courtney.”
Swinton smiled. It was a smile somewhat resembling a grin. A terrible affair had happened to him; but not quite so bad as being married to the Honourable Geraldine Courtney—otherwise Kate the coper!
“Aw, ladies!” he replied in a self-deprecating tone, “you do me too much honaw. I am far from being a favowite with the lady in question. We are no gweat fwiends, I ashaw you.”
The assurance seemed gratifying to Mrs Girdwood and a little to Julia. Cornelia did not appear to care for it, one way or the other.
“Fact is,” continued Swinton, following up the advantage gained by the incidental allusion to the Honourable Geraldine, “I’ve just this moment come from qua’lling with her. She wished me to take her out faw a dwive. I wefused.”
“Refused!” exclaimed Mrs Girdwood, in surprise. “Oh! Mr Swinton! Refused such a beautiful lady. So accomplished too! How could you?”
“Well, madam, as I’ve told you, Miss Courtney and I are not bwother and sister. Besides, I dwove her out yesterday, and that should pwead my excuse. To-day I ordered my horse—my best one—just faw a special purpose. I hope I shall not be disappointed?”