“I should rather say he was,” interposed Lindsay, who had just entered, giving a finishing touch to his toilette as he bounded down the stairs. “Why, hang it, Alice, don’t you know that it is to this gentleman you probably owe your life?”
Miss Lindsay opened her blue eyes very wide.
“Is this possible?” she cried.
“Why, of course it is. My dear fellow,” exclaimed Lindsay, seizing Charley Devereux by both hands, “need I say what intense pleasure it is to find my sister’s rescuer in the person of a friend of my uncle?”
“Mr. Devereux,” added Alice, presenting two dainty hands in gloves of many buttons, and impulsively flinging away her brother’s hands, “this is a joyous surprise. Why, Fred told me you were a mechanic—that is,” she added with a blush—“you see he is awfully near-sighted.”
“Don’t apologize, Miss Lindsay. My old home-spun suit is becoming very dingy, but I like it so well that I wouldn’t part with it for one of Smallpage’s marvellous frocks.”
The pompous flunky announced dinner.
“You will take me down, Mr. Devereux. I shall jilt Lord Jocelyn for the preux chevalier who has so charmingly proved that the age of chivalry is not yet dead. By the way, I must do my devoirs.” And summoning Percival from a distant corner of the room, she presented him to Miss Devereux.
He did not catch the name, but, offering that young lady his arm, he moved towards the door.
“Now for pigs and potatoes,” he thought.