“He has been,” he replied quietly. “A desperate flirt; but—he is not flirting now!”
“You think—”
“I’m sure!”
Cornelia clasped her hands with a sigh of relief.
“Then—?”
“The Deluge!”
“You mean—?”
“He can’t marry her, of course! She’s a lovely girl, and everything that’s nice, and good, and that kind of thing, but—not at all the kind of girl he ought to marry.”
“Ought he to marry someone hideous then, with an ugly temper? Poor fellow! Why?”
“There’s no necessity to be hideous, that I know of, though as a matter of fact he probably won’t find a girl suitable as to means and position, who is anything like so attractive, personally, as Miss Ramsden. Greville is hardly his own master, Miss Briskett. He is not a rich man, and he has the place to think of. Besides, there’s Madame to consider. Madame belongs to a noble house, and has high ideas for her son.”