“Far more probably,” said Mr. Lorton, “than I. My—er—Mr. Chrysostom Lorton is deeply attached to her.”
My father’s silence was perhaps more eloquent than any merely verbal condemnation.
“I—er—I’ll write to-night,” said Mr. Lorton.
“Perhaps,” said my father, “you’d be so kind as to give us Mrs. Chrysostom Lorton’s address.”
Mr. Lorton hesitated.
“Oh—er—certainly,” he said. “Paternoster Towers, Enfield.”
My father made a note of this in his diary.
“We shall call upon her,” he said, “to-morrow at noon.”
Mr. Lorton emitted a sort of gargling sound.
“I—er—I’ll tell her,” he said. “She’ll be delighted.”