"
"Everything?" I asked.
"Yes, everything."
"You are too good, Mr. Montgomerie--but what would your mother say?"
He looked uneasy and slightly unnerved.
"My mother, I fear, has old-fashioned notions, but I am sure if you went
to her dressmaker--you--you would look different."
"Should you like me to look different, then? You wouldn't recognize me,
you know, if I went to her dressmaker."
"I like you just as you are," he said, with an air of great condescension.
"I am overcome," I said, humbly. "But--but--what is this story I hear
about Miss Angela Grey? A lady, I see in the papers, who dances at the
Gaiety, is it not? Are you sure she will permit you to make this
declaration without her knowledge?"
He became petrified.
"Who has told you about her?" he asked.
"No one," I said. "Jean said your father was angry with you on account of
a horse of that name, but I chanced to see it in the list of attractions
at the Gaiety, so I conclude it is not a horse; and if you are engaged to
her, I don't think it is quite right of you to try and break my heart."
"Oh, Evangeline--Miss Travers!" he spluttered. "I am greatly attached to
you--the other was only a pastime--a--a--Oh, we men, you know--young
and--and--run after--have our temptations, you know. You must think
nothing about it.
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