The Honourable Bob stopped. “Honour bright? Honour bright?” he repeated eagerly. “Mean to say, Vaughan, you’re not on the track of that little filly?”
Vaughan scowled. “Not in the way you mean,” he said sternly. “You make a mistake. She’s a good girl.”
Flixton winked. “Heard that before, my lad,” he said, “more than once. From my grandmother. I’ll take my chance of that.”
Vaughan in his heart would have been glad to fall upon him and pommel him. But there were objections to that course. On the other hand, his feelings had cooled in the last few minutes, and he was far from prepared to announce offhand that he was going to marry the beauty. So “No, you will not, Flixton,” he said. “Let it go! Do you hear? The fact is,” he continued, in some embarrassment, “I’m in a sort of fiduciary relation to the young lady, and—and I am not going to see her played with. That’s the fact.”
“Fiduciary relation?” the Honourable Bob retorted, in perplexity. “What the deuce is that? Never heard of it! D’you mean, man, that you are—eh?—related to her? Of course, if so——”
“No, I am not related to her.”
“Then——”
“But I’m not going to see her made a fool of, that’s all!”
An idea struck the Honourable Bob. He stared. “See here,” he said in a tone of horror, “you ain’t—you ain’t thinking of marrying her?”
Vaughan’s cheeks burned. “May be, and may be not,” he said curtly. “But either way, it is my business!”