"But surely you think he will, he must?" demanded the lady anxiously.
"Yes, he should by rights," Peckover agreed. "But he may not be a marrying man."
Lady Ormstork looked scandalized. "Every man is a marrying man when he meets a girl like Ulrica. Besides, it is the duty of every peer to marry, or what will become of our old nobility? Heaven only knows to whom, as matters stand, the Quorn title will go next."
Peckover had an idea that he could claim to share the knowledge. "He ought to come to a firm offer if he means business," he said.
"Our time here is getting short," Lady Ormstork declared significantly. Not but what she was prepared to grace Great Bunbury with her presence for a twelvemonth if that were likely to bring off the match. "As Ulrica's temporary guardian I cannot allow Quorn to flirt with her indefinitely if he has no intention of proposing."
"No," Peckover responded promptly, wondering how he could get a look in. Then a happy idea struck him. "Quorn is a shilly-shallying fellow," he said guilefully. "Can't make up his mind. I usually have to do it for him."
"I wish you would in this instance," the lady exclaimed fervently.
"Well, I think I might," he replied with sudden animation. "But of course it won't do for me to tell him straight he ought to propose. He'd see you working the figure. No, I've got a more artful plan than that."
"Oh, you dear Mr. Gage!" cried Lady Ormstork, brightening at the prospect of an end to her uninteresting sojourn at The Cracknels. "Do tell me."
"Easy enough," said Peckover, sparkling likewise; "and highly effective. One trial will prove it, or money returned. Make him jealous."