His laughter was demoniac.
“Sir Peter,” said Lady Hawkshaw severely,—for I remained mute,—“I am astonished at your violence and unreason. Did you never hear of an heiress—and a fine, handsome girl, too, with many accomplishments, and of a great family—marrying a poor lieutenant without a penny, and without an ancestor?”
“By Jupiter, I never did!” roared Sir Peter.
“Then, Sir Peter,” cried Lady Hawkshaw, rising with awful dignity, “you forget all about Lieutenant Peter Hawkshaw and the Honorable Apollonia Jane Howard.”
At this, Sir Peter fairly wilted for a few moments; and I heard something strangely like a tittering in the next room.
But Sir Peter presently recovered himself in a measure.
“But—but—there are lieutenants and lieutenants, Madam, I was considered a man likely to rise. And besides, if I remember rightly, I was not an ill-looking fellow, Madam.”
“Sir Peter, you were no taller then than you are now—five feet four inches. Your hair was red, and you were far from handsome. Richard Glyn is as good-looking as you ever were in your life; and he has already made his mark. Richard Glyn,” turning to me, “you are at liberty to marry Daphne Carmichael.”
“Richard Glyn,” bawled Sir Peter, “if you dare to think you are going to marry Daphne Carmichael,—mind, I say, if the thought ever enters your damned head,—it will be as much as your life is worth! I am going, this moment, to the First Lord of the Admiralty, to see if I can’t have you sent to the West Indies, or the Gold Coast, with my best wishes and endeavors to keep you there for ten years at least.”
“And what will you do with me, dear Uncle Peter?” suddenly asked a soft voice; and Daphne, who had stolen into the room (she must have been very near), stood before him, and nestled her pretty head against his shoulder.