“My Brownie is looking troubled; were you not pleased with Lady Dunforth?” he asked, drawing her into his arms.
“Oh, yes. I think she is very lovely; but, Adrian, I never dreamed that you were anything to Lord Dunforth.”
“You never asked me, did you?” he asked, with mock gravity.
“Of course not; I did not like to be questioning you as to your ancestry; I supposed you would tell me all in good time of your own accord. I have heard that you were connected with a titled family, but never supposed you were a descendant of his, and would occupy such a high position,” she said, looking rather uneasy.
“Then it can never be said that you schemed for me on that account,” he replied, with twinkling eyes and an amused smile, “while I, on the other hand, have had the advantage of you all along. I have known ever since the day I first saw you that you were a descendant of royalty.”
Brownie lifted her head, and gave him a perplexed look.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“I mean,” and he laughed, mischievously, “that I have heard Miss Douglas was very proud of having descended from Queen Margaret Tudor. Have you the genealogical tree, Brownie?”
“Poor auntie! But you are laughing at me, and who told you all this?”
“My friend Gordon, of course; so you see, I took care to find out all about you before I made any advances.”