"What! that pale-faced, dark-eyed little girl—young Fergusson's companion or drawing-mistress? Why, she was scarcely pretty."
"Just so. Well, I am going to marry her on Thursday. Will you come to the wedding?"
Wilton had poured out a bumper of claret as he spoke, and, with a slight, defiant nod, drank it off.
"By ——!" exclaimed Moncrief, who did not generally use strong language; "I am astonished. When did you decide on this preposterous piece of foolery?"
"I put things in train last December, but the date was not decided till two days ago."
"Ha! I thought I smelt a rat just before I left Glenraven; but I never dreamed of anything so serious. You are the last man I should have accused of such idiotic weakness. Who is this girl?"
"I do not know."
"Who was her father?"
"A political adventurer, I believe; but I really do not know."
"Who are her friends?"