“Not bad, that!” chuckled Lord Paramour. “But not good, either. Would she, d’you think, consider my advances favourably?”
Mrs. Lyon-West thought she would, and Lord Paramour sighed.
“Shall I tell you,” he put to her, “something that I have never told any one else? Shall I tell you why I have never married and why I cannot marry your daughter, enchanting though she is? Are you sure you will not be offended?”
“Tell me,” said Mrs. Lyon-West. “Oh, please tell me!” She had not dreamed of getting so far.
“Well, it’s like this,” began Lord Paramour sadly. “But I must put it delicately. If you have read or seen Trilby, you will remember that the three artist fellows were terribly upset on hearing that Trilby had sat to another artist fellow for the ‘altogether.’ You get my meaning, madam? You are not offended?”
Mrs. Lyon-West said she did and she wasn’t.
“Well, then, it’s like this. I am, madam, incapable, constitutionally, physically, and mentally incapable of marrying any one whom I have not seen in the ‘altogether’——”
“Sir,” said Mrs. Lyon-West, “how dare you?”
“That’s just the point,” sighed Lord Paramour. “I daren’t. And that’s why I can’t marry any one.” He rose, saying sadly: “I knew you would be offended. Women are odd. Good-night, madam. Sorry, I’m sure. Enchanting girl, your daughter. She has promised me this dance. Good-night, madam.”
“Sir,” said Mrs. Lyon-West, “good-night.”