“Monty Veyze.”
“Gloria! Do you know Sir Montrose Veyze?”
“Rather. I visited at his sister’s last time I was in England.”
“Heavens! That makes it seem so ghastly real. What’s he like?”
“Round and roly-poly and red and fiercelooking; but a good sort. And he used to be quite an admirer of mine. I do think, Darcy, that with the whole of Burke’s Peerage to choose from you might have refrained from trespassing on my preserves. It isn’t clubby of you!”
“You can have him!” cried the girl desperately. “Any one can have him! I don’t care how round and red and—”
“He’s rather far from your picture of him, certainly. Not a bit like Jack Remsen. So you approve of Jack, do you?”
“I thought him awfully attractive,” said Darcy shyly.
“Oh, Jack’s a dear. It’s a pity about his money.”
“Has he lost it?”