“N-n-not entirely.”
“For Heaven’s sake, do be more explicit!”
“I’m t-t-trying to,” said Darcy brokenly. “I got him out of a book.”
“Then he’s imaginary.”
“I’m afraid he’s real. Awfully real.”
“Darcy Cole; what book did you get him out of?”
“Burke’s Peerage.”
With one headlong plunge Gloria projected herself upon the couch where she wallowed ecstatically among the pillows.
“Oh, Darcy! Darcy!” she gasped when she could achieve coherent speech. “For this I shall love you forever. I’ll do more. I’ll adopt you. I’ll endow you. I’ll—I’ll canonize you. What’s his name?”
“Sir Montrose Veyze, Bart., of Veyze Holdings, Hampshire, England,” recited the girl formally.