“Slightly. He called on me on business a few weeks since. But he is the very last person on earth of whom a statement of that kind could ever possibly be true.”
“Humph!” said Framlingham, and he threw a dead stick for Whisky to fetch.
“His sister played fast and loose with your father’s money, didn’t she?” he asked.
“I would prefer not to speak of her.”
“All right,” said Framlingham rather disappointed. “But because you don’t like the sister that is no reason to refuse the brother. I have always heard that she is a thorn in his side.”
“There could be no question of refusal or acceptance,” said Katherine, exceedingly annoyed. “Lord Hurstmanceaux and I scarcely know each other; and there is no one who more thoroughly despises myself and my origin than he does.”
Framlingham was very astonished, and sent Whisky after another stick.
“He can scarcely have told you so?” he said. “Hie—good dog—bring it!”
“He has told me so in most unmistakable terms. Pray don’t think that I blame him for a moment; but you will understand that, knowing this, such a report as you speak of in the papers is incomprehensible to me and most odious.”
“Necessarily,” said Framlingham, as he looked at her with his keen sagacious grey eyes and thought to himself, “It is well to begin with a little aversion. He may be odious to her, but I doubt if he is indifferent.”