“I won’t forget your obliging offer, sir, I’ll assure you; but I have a notion your sword may be needed first in a quarter more interesting to yourself. Do you know what all Calcutta is saying about your dear Miss, and the reason why she don’t marry? Because she don’t dare. She’s married secretly already, to some fellow she met on her voyage, by a Popish priest somewhere or other, and she has persuaded you that it’s owing to her extraordinary delicacy she can’t find any one in Bengall good enough for her.”
“Indeed, madam, your liberality is too great. Not content with robbing my daughter of her reputation—for your own benefit, I suppose—you make me a present of a son-in-law, all in one day.”
Mrs Freyne laughed again as she stepped out on the varanda. My papa watched her out of sight, then turned to me with a frowning brow—
“Is this true, miss?”
“Oh, dear sir, can you believe such a thing of your girl?”
“No prevarication, miss. Give me an honest yes or no.”
“Why, no, sir. There’s no truth in it.”
“Will you swear it, miss?”
“On my honour, sir.”
“No, miss, that won’t do. Sure I can’t accept an oath by the very thing that’s in dispute.”