Lord Dreever felt relieved. This was not polite, perhaps, but at least it was not violent.
“That’s what beats me, too, old man,” he said. “Between you and me, it’s a jolly rum business. This afternoon——”
“What about this afternoon?”
“Why, she wouldn’t have me at any price.”
“You asked her this afternoon?”
“Yes; and it was all right then. She refused me like a bird, wouldn’t hear of it, came pretty near laughing in my face; and then to-night,” he went on, his voice squeaky at the thought of his wrongs, “my uncle sends for me and says she’s changed her mind and is waiting for me in the morning-room. I go there and she tells me in about three words that she’s been thinking it over and that the whole fearful thing is on again. I call it jolly rough on a chap. I felt such a frightful ass, you know, I didn’t know what to do—whether to kiss her, I mean——”
Jimmy snorted violently.
“Eh?” said his lordship blankly.
“Go on,” said Jimmy, between his teeth.
“I felt a fearful fool, you know. I just said ‘Right-O!’ or something—dashed if I know what I did say—and legged it. It’s a jolly rum business, the whole thing. It isn’t as if she wanted me—I could see that with half an eye—she doesn’t care a hang for me. It’s my belief, old man,” he said solemnly, “that she’s been badgered into it. I believe my uncle’s been at her.”