Lord Spratte, mildly cynical, shrugged his shoulders.
“Meanwhile you’ve succeeded in capturing for Winnie the best parti of the season. Talk of match-makin’ mammas! They’re nowhere when my brother Theodore takes the field.”
“When I make up my mind to do a thing I do it.”
“And what about the Socialist?”
“Oh, I think I’ve settled him,” said the Canon, with a laugh of disdain. “What did I tell you, Sophia?”
“My dear Theodore, I have always thought you a clever man,” she answered, calmly.
“I’ve brought you to your knees; I’ve humbled your pride at last. Winnie is going to marry Harry Wroxham and Lionel is nearly engaged to Gwendolen Durant. What would you say if I told you that I was going to be married too?”
They both stared at him with amazement, and he chuckled as he watched their faces.
“Are you joking, Theodore?”
“Not in the least. But I’m not going to tell you who it is yet.”