'Town-hall—long room at the Angel—Angel at the long room of the town-hall—oh, certainly, certainly, certainly,' muttered he, scraping away at the contents of his plate.
'Then that's a bargain, mind,' observed Amelia significantly.
'Bargain, bargain, bargain—certainly,' replied he; 'and I'll lead off with you, or you'll lead off with me—whichever way it is—meanwhile, I'll trouble you for a piece of that gingerbread.'
Having supplied him with a most liberal slice, she resumed the subject of the ball.
'Then we'll fix it so,' observed she.
'Oh, fix it so, certainly—certainly fix it so,' replied his lordship, filling his mouth full of gingerbread.
'Suppose we have it on the day of the races?' continued Amelia.
'Couldn't be better,' replied his lordship; 'couldn't be better,' repeated he, eyeing her intently through his formidable specs.
His lordship was quite in the assenting humour, and would have agreed to anything—anything short of lending one a five-pound note.
Amelia was charmed with her success. Despite the spot on her nose, she felt she was winning.