"It appears, Mr. Carter--and you will excuse me if I speak
plainly--(I set my teeth) that you have, in the first place,
given to my son's bride a wedding present, which I can only
describe as--"
"A pearl ornament," I interposed; "with a ruby or two, and--"
"A pearl heart," she corrected; "er--fractured, and that you
explained that this absurd article represented your heart."
"Mere badinage," said I.
"In execrably bad taste," said she.
I bowed.
"In fact, most offensive. But that is not the worst. From my
son's further statements it appears that on one occasion, at
least, he found you and Miss Foster engaged in what I can only
call--"
I raised my hand in protest. The Countess took no notice.
"What I can only call romping."
"Romping!" I cried.
"A thing not only atrociously vulgar at all times, but under the
circumstances--need I say more? Mr. Carter, you were engaged in
chasing my son's future bride round a table!"
"Pardon me, Lady Mickleham. Your son's future bride was engaged
in chasing me round a table."
"It is the same thing," said Lady Mickleham.
"I should have thought there was a distinction," said I.
"None at all."
I fell back on a second line of defense.
"I didn't let her catch me, Lady Mickleham," I pleaded.
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