I was so staggered by having the words taken out of my mouth, that I could only gape and stare at her. To render my confusion worse, she added,—
“And you want to marry Daphne.”
“I can not deny it, Madam,” I managed to say.
“Will you ring the bell?” she asked.
I rang the bell like a churchwarden, and the footman came, and Lady Hawkshaw immediately sent him for Sir Peter.
I think my courage would wholly have given out at that, except for a glimpse of Daphne, flitting up the stairs. The dear girl wished to give me heart, so she told me afterward.
Sir Peter appeared, and was greeted by Lady Hawkshaw as follows:—
“Sir Peter, here is Richard Glyn wanting to marry Daphne. He has but three thousand pounds; but she might go farther, and fare worse.”
Sir Peter literally glared at me. He gasped once or twice, then broke out in a torrent.
“He wants to marry my ward, does he—my ward, with thirty thousand pounds, in her own right! I wonder, damme, he didn’t propose to marry Arabella, too. Young gentleman, you are too modest. Heiresses in England go about hunting for poor lieutenants to marry. I suppose you think it would be a fine stroke for me to marry my ward to my nephew! Ha, ha! Ho, ho!”