“And where did you make her acquaintance, pray?”
“Quite casually; a week ago.”
“And you’ve taken her for three drives, and walked on the promenade with her?”
“If I have, what crime have I committed beyond arousing your jealousy?”
“I’m not jealous in the least, I assure you, old chap,” replied Jack Egerton, smiling. “But the fact is, Hugh, I’ve always considered you a man, and never believed that you could develop into a brainless, lovesick swain. Yet it appears you have. We’ve known each other long enough to speak plainly, and if you take my advice you’ll steer clear of her.”
“Why do you give me this mysterious warning, old chap?”
“She’s bewitching, I admit: but a pretty face is not all that is desirable in a woman. If you’re on the lookout for a suitable partner—and it seems you are—I advise you not to make her your wife, or you’ll repent it. Besides, a rich man like yourself can choose from among the younger and possibly better-looking bargains offered by anxious but impecunious mothers.”
“Oh yes; I know all about that,” replied Hugh impatiently. “I shall never take any advice upon matrimony, so you are only wasting breath. The man who frowns at coquetry is often willing enough to wink at the coquette. I’m master of my own actions, and were we not old friends, Jack, I should consider this abominable impertinence on your part.”
“But, my dear fellow, it is in your own interests that—”
“Bother my interests! Have another cigar and shut up!”