Part 31 (1/2)

”I came to the decision yesterday,” he went on, tapping the arm of the chair with his finger tips, as if timing his words with care and precision. ”Spoke to dad about it at lunch. I was for coming out on the five o'clock, as I'd planned, but he seemed to think I'd better talk it over with the mater first. Not that she would be likely to kick up a row, you know, but--well, for policy's sake.

See what I mean? Decent thing to do, you know. She never quite got over the way you and Chal stole a march on her. G.o.d knows I'm not like Chal.”

Her eyes narrowed again. ”No,” she said, ”you are not like your brother.”

”Chal was all right, mind you, in what he did,” he added hastily, noting the look. ”I would do the same, 'pon my soul I would, if there were any senseless objections raised in my case. But, of course, it WAS right for me to talk it over with her, just the same. So I stayed in and gave them all the chance to say what they thought of me--and, incidentally, of Hetty. Quite the decent thing, don't you think? A fellow's mother is his mother, after all. See what I mean?”

”And she was appeased?” she said, in a dangerously satirical tone.

”Hardly the word, old girl, but we'll let it stand. She WAS appeased.

Wanted to be sure, of course, if I knew my own mind, and all that.

Just as if I didn't! Ha! Ha! I was considerate enough to ask her if she was satisfied I wasn't marrying beneath the family dignity.

'Gad, she got off a rather neat one at that. Said I might marry under the family tree if I felt like it. Rather good, eh, for mother? I said I preferred a church. Nothing al fresco for me.”

”She is quite satisfied, then, that you are not throwing yourself away on Miss Castleton,” said Sara, with a deep breath, which he mistook for a sigh.

”Oh, trust mother to nose into things. She knows Miss Castleton's pedigree from the ground up. There's Debrett, you see. What's more, you can't fool her in a pinch. She knows blood when she sees it.

Father hasn't the same sense of proportion, however. He says you never can tell.”

Sara was startled. ”What do you mean?”

”Oh, it's nothing to speak of; only a way he has of grinding mother once in a while. He uses you as an example to prove that you never can tell, and mother has to admit that he's right. You have upset every one of her pet theories. She sees it now, but--whew! She couldn't see it in the old days, could she?”

”I fear not,” said she in a low voice. Her eyes smouldered. ”It is quite natural that she should not want you to make the mistake your brother made.”

”Oh, please don't put it that way, Sara. You make me feel like a confounded prig, because that's what it comes to, with them, don't you know. And yet my att.i.tude has always been clear to them where you're concerned. I was strong for you from the beginning. All that silly rot about--”

”Please, please!” she burst out, quivering all over.

”I beg your pardon,” he stammered. ”You--you know how I mean it, dear girl.”

”Please leave me out of it, Leslie,” she said, collecting herself.

After a moment she went on calmly: ”And so you are going to marry my poor little Hetty, and they are all pleased with the arrangement.”

”If she'll have me,” he said with a wink, as if to say there wasn't any use doubting it. ”They're tickled to death.”

”Vivian?”

”Viv's a sn.o.b. She says Hetty's much too good for me, blood and bone.

What business, says she, has a Wrandall aspiring to the descendant of Henry the Eighth.”

”What!”

”The Murgatroyds go back to old Henry, straight as a plummet.

'Gad, what Vivvy doesn't know about British aristocracy isn't worth knowing. She looked it up the time they tried to convince her she ought to marry the duke. But she's fond of Hetty. She says she's a darling. She's right: Hetty is too good for me.”

Sara swished her gown about and rose gracefully from the chaise-longue.