“Honestly, Mary, I have, just after I met Isobel. Of course, a man can’t throw a woman over in a second, but I have cooled down gradually. At the present moment, I think the fascinating widow hates me.”
Mary rose and spoke decidedly.
“I am glad to have your assurance of that. If it had not been so, I might have felt it my duty to warn Isobel. She is too sterling a girl to be played with.”
Her brother rose too, half resentful, half admiring. It was not the first time that Lady Mary had spoken salutary words of wisdom to him.
“By Jove, Mary, you are uncompromising. Do you mean to say you would give me away to Isobel—me, your own brother?”
“Of course,” answered Mary firmly. “To Isobel, or any other woman, if I thought you were unworthy of her.”
Admiration conquered. He tucked her arm in his, as they returned to the house.
“You dear old girl, you are one out of a million. But you know you are a little uncomfortable at times, and when you are inclined that way, you have a knack of making a fellow feel a bit of a worm.”
Mary laughed pleasantly.
“So good for you feeling that, dear old boy, and equally good for Eric. I expect dad has woken up by now, and wondering where we have got to.” They found the Earl wide-awake. The doze of a few minutes over his port had refreshed him immensely. He fell at once to discussing Spain, a country he knew well.