“Nothing serious, eh? And what do you call ‘serious,’ mon cher? Oglings and letters, gloves, flowers, whisperings in window-seats! Egad, nephew, you will have that gambling oaf of a Lot to deal with. They are mad to marry Jilian, and they want money.”
The old lady was quite flushed and eloquent, while Richard’s brown face expressed surprise. He was innocent of worldly guile, nor had he scented such matrimonial subtleties in the Hardacre mansion.
“Sir Peter has been very kind to me,” he said.
“Noble old gentleman! And he has never been for pushing Miss Jilian into your arms, eh? No, I warrant you, the wench is spry and buxom enough herself. You are not a bad-looking lad, Richard, and you have money.”
Jeffray still appeared in a fog.
“I do not understand you, aunt,” he said.
“Not understand me!”
“No.”
“Nephew Dick, you are a bigger fool than I thought you were. Come, lad, blab to me; have you offered yourself to the fair Jilian?”
Richard blushed, rather prettily for a man, and shook his head.