‘H’m,’ said Lord Mountclere.
‘Business—only business,’ said she.
‘Shall I leave you? Perhaps the business is important—most important.’
‘Unfortunately it is.’
‘You must forgive me this once: I cannot help—will you give me permission to make a difficult remark?’ said Lord Mountclere, in an impatient voice.
‘With pleasure.’
‘Well, then, the business I meant was—an engagement to be married.’
Had it been possible for a woman to be perpetually on the alert she might now have supposed that Lord Mountclere knew all about her; a mechanical deference must have restrained such an illusion had he seen her in any other light than that of a distracting slave. But she answered quietly, ‘So did I.’
‘But how does he know—dear me, dear me! I beg pardon,’ said the viscount.
She looked at him curiously, as if to imply that he was seriously out of his reckoning in respect of her if he supposed that he would be allowed to continue this little play at love-making as long as he chose, when she was offered the position of wife by a man so good as Neigh.