"No, he was too busy—but we thought that you would"— Then the girl's face flushed with a sudden indignation. "You said he would, Charlie, but he doesn't—he's a beast!"
"I know," said the Blackguard; "that is the nature of the animal. Do you think, my dear, that this young man is worthy of you?"
"I don't know," pondered the little flirt, coyly enough; but, perhaps to prove his ardour, dropped Mr. Ramsay's hand.
"Do you know, my dear,"—the Blackguard was quite paternal,—"you are going to be very beautiful? How can I commend this young gentleman's suit while I love you myself? I am jealous of my young rival." This because the rival was very justly indignant. "He is young, he is very good-looking, and quite, oh, quite respectable. Now, I'm neither young, nor good, nor beautiful, and I'm not a bit respectable, so I can speak without damaging his prospects. I have no chance whatever, but"—he bowed gracefully—"I love you, my dear, very much."
The girl raised one eye to look at him, then lowered both out of shyness, then pouted towards Mr. Ramsay with her forefinger pressed to her lips as though considering; then, seeing that her fiancé stood stupefied, she thought that she owed him a lesson, and ran for the woods.
Mr. Ramsay would have given chase at once.
"One moment," said the Blackguard, smiling in his saturnine way, while a twinge of pain from his arm made him draw up stiffly. "Young man, you don't let the grass grow underfoot; you needn't be in such a hurry—she'll wait for you, and you have weeks and months to make up for this minute. About that shanty you knocked down this morning?"
"Well? It's no business of yours—I mean, forgive me for talking like that."
"I forgive you," said the Blackguard blandly. "Don't you think you owe these gentlemen some apology—some compensation?"
"But I daren't offer money."