‘Good-morning, Miss Brandon,’ said Sir Frederick as he held out his hand.—‘And pray, who is Charley?’
‘Charley Summers, of course—Captain Bowood’s nephew.’
‘But I was under the impression that Captain Bowood had discarded his nephew?’
‘So he has. Cut off his allowance, and forbade him the house eight months ago.’
‘And yet you expect to see him here to-day?’ The Baronet was always interested in the affairs of his neighbours, especially when those neighbours happened to be people of property.
‘I don’t mind telling you, but I had a note from Charley this morning—on the sly, you know.’
‘Pardon me, but young ladies in society don’t generally say “on the sly.”’
‘Charley says it, and he was educated at Harrow. Anyhow, I had a note from him, in which he said that he should certainly contrive to see me to-day. It’s a great risk for him to run, of course; but that won’t deter him in the least.’
‘You appear to be greatly interested in the young gentleman.’
‘Don’t call him a young gentleman, please—it sounds so awfully formal. Didn’t I tell you that we are in love? No; I don’t think I did. Well, we are. It’s a secret at present, and there are all sorts of dreadful obstacles in the way. But we have made up our minds to get married by-and-by, or else we shall commit suicide and die together.’ As Miss Brandon spoke thus, she flung into the air the Latin grammar she had been carrying and caught it deftly as it fell.