“Er—personally, seldom. And never alone.”
Was there a twinkle behind the monocle? Were the jokesmiths wrong about the English lack of humor? Or had she, happily, encountered a phenomenon? Darcy embraced the hope and changed her strategy in the midst of the assault.
“Here’s your chance,” she said with calm effrontery. “You see, my—the other person in my elopement failed to live up to his opportunity.”
Her companion was understood to reflect adversely upon the sanity of the recreant.
“So,” pursued the girl, her color flushing and paling, but her eyes unflinchingly steady, “if you would—oh, please don’t think me dreadful!—if you could just pretend to be the man! It’s only for a little while,” she pleaded. “Just until we can get away from those people. Will you?”
“I will,” he said solemnly.
“I wish you wouldn’t say that as if—as if we were in church,” protested the startled Darcy, plaintively.
“Ah, yes; by the way, have we been?”
“Have we been what?”
“To church.”