“No—far from it,” replied Henry. “In fact, I may say that I despise the stage and everything to do with it.”
A whimsical smile played round the corners of Eliphalet’s eyes.
“You appear to have chosen an odd place to make such an assertion,” was all he said.
“Perhaps, but I didn’t come on that score. You have a girl here named Mary Kent.”
“Not here, believe me.”
“There’s no use denying it. She—she’s a member of your—troupe.”
Eliphalet held up his hand. “Mr. Churchill,” he said, “would you mind going away and not returning until you have bettered your vocabulary and learnt a modicum of good manners?”
The distinction with which this speech was delivered quite took the wind from Henry’s sails.
“I—I am sorry,” he said, “but what would you say if your affianced were ruined—spoiled and painted up like a Jezebel?”
“Do you accuse me of ruining, spoiling and painting up a certain Miss Mary Kent? Because I assure you I have never before heard the lady’s name.”