"And you do consider it an honour?" I asked, pushing my hands deep into my pockets and spreading my legs.
He leaned back and surveyed me tolerantly.
"'Gad!—that's a beastly impertinent question, George. Why shouldn't it be an honour, when every gentleman in London will be biting his finger-tips with envy?"
I nodded and went on.
"You consider also that she will be honoured in marrying a Brammerton?"
"Look here," he answered, a little irritated, "what's all this damned catechising for?"
"I am simply asking questions, Harry; taking liberties seeing I am a Brammerton and your little brother," I retorted calmly.
"And nasty questions they are, too;—but, by Jove! since you ask, and, as I am a Brammerton, and it is I she is going to marry,—why! I consider she is honoured. The honour will be,—ah! on both sides, George. Now,—dear fellow,—don't worry about my feelings. If you have anything more to ask, why! shoot it over, now that I am in the mood for answering," he continued dryly. "I have a hide like a rhino'."
I looked him over coldly.
"Yes, Harry,—Lady Rosemary will come to you as a Granton, fulfilling the pledge made by her father. She will come to you with her honour bright and unsullied."