Well! that is charming. I protest you make me the politest speeches; but alas! they go for nothing. No woman of discretion should encourage the attachment of a man that’s married.
I may not always be a married man.
That’s true; but then perhaps you’d change your tone.
Never.
Were I quite sure of that, I would not listen to Sir Arthur Floyd; nor indeed to any body in Sir Owen’s life time—but recollect we have each a son. What must we do with them? They’ll never set their horses up together. What is the reason that they don’t agree? I doubt your youngster is a little proud. Isn’t it so?
I know nothing of him.
My David does not like him, I assure you. He says he is certain you are not his father.
I know nothing of that also.
He never speaks of him by the name of John De Lancaster; he calls him Jack Jones after the name of your wife’s favourite lover Captain Jones, for whom she is so inconsolable.
Why now that’s wonderful—I can’t think how that secret could get out.