“Then you are by far more unselfish than I am, my dear heart, for I wish to marry you whatever your sentiments may be!” he replied promptly. “You may regret this day: I could not! What I regret I can never undo, for the gods don’t annihilate space, or time, or transform such a man as I am into one worthy to be your husband.”
She clasped him tightly. “Stoopid, stoopid! You know I found my worthy suitor a dead bore, and as for the rest, does it not occur to you, love, that if you hadn’t run off with that fat woman—”
“She was not fat!” he protested.
“No, not then, but she is now! Well, if you hadn’t behaved so badly you would probably have married some eligible girl, and by now would have been comfortably settled for years, with a wife and six or seven children!”
“No, not the children! The caterpillar would have had them,” he reminded her. “Does it occur to you, Miss Lanyon, that although I have twice been on the verge of it, I have not yet offered for you? Being now safe from interruption, will you do me the honour, ma’am—”
“Good! You haven’t gone to bed yet,” said Aubrey, suddenly re-entering the room. “I have had a most excellent notion!”
“This,” said Damerel wrathfully, “is the second time you have walked in just as I am about to propose to your sister!”
“I should have thought you must have done that hours ago. In any event, this is something important. You can spend your honeymoon in Greece, and I’ll come with you!”
Still standing within the circle of Damerel’s arm, Venetia choked, and turned her face into his shoulder.
“Greece in the middle of the winter? We shall do no such thing!” said Damerel.
“But why be married so soon? If you were to settle on a date in the spring—”
“We have settled on a day in January—if not December!”
“Oh!” said Aubrey, rather dashed. “Then I suppose it had better be Rome. It’s a pity, because I’d prefer Greece. However, we can go there later on, and it’s your honeymoon, after all, not mine. I daresay Venetia will like Rome, too.”
“We must remember to ask her some time—not that it signifies! Go to bed, you repulsive whelp!”
“Oh, you want to propose to Venetia, don’t you? Very well—though you needn’t mind me, you know! Goodnight!”
He limped out, and Damerel strode to the door, and locked it. “And now, my love,” he said, returning to Venetia, “for the fourth time ...!”