“One of my predecessors?”
“No, of course not,” answered Lady Vizard, amused. “Give me a kiss, child.”
Profoundly despondent, Basil walked back to the Temple, and when he came to his door it was opened by Jenny. He remembered then that she had promised to come that afternoon to hear the final arrangements for their marriage, which was to take place at a registry office.
“I met my brother Jimmie in the Strand, Basil,” she said,” “and I’ve brought him up to see you.”
Going in, he found a weedy youth seated on the table, with dangling legs. He had sandy hair, a clean-shaven, sharp face, and pale eyes. Much commoner than his sister, he spoke with a pronounced Cockney accent, and when he smiled, showing small, discoloured teeth, had an expression of rather odious cunning. He was dressed in the height of fashion—for City sportsmen, with a rakish bowler, a check suit, and a bright violet shirt: he flourished a thin bamboo cane.
“How do?” he said, nodding to Basil. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.”
“I’m afraid I’ve kept you waiting,”
“Don’t apologize,” Mr. Bush answered cheerfully. “I can’t stay long, because I’m a business man, but I thought I’d better just pop in and say ’ow d’ye do to my future brother-in-law. I’m a chap as likes to be cordial.”
“It’s very kind of you,” said Basil politely.
“My! He was surprised when I told him I was going to marry you, Basil,” cried Jenny, with a little laugh of pleasure.