I was prepared to do battle till the death. Desperation had now made me
brave.
"Now, _do_ let us be serious," said the lady, presently.
She apparently found it difficult to stifle her laughter at the humour
of the whole thing:--it was really such a very good joke!
"I _am_ serious, Mrs Clyde," I said, half-petulantly, although I tried
to be impressive. I was solemn enough over it all; but, my temper has
always been, unfortunately for me, too easily provoked.
"I never heard of such a thing in my life," she continued, taking no
notice, apparently, either of me or of my answer. "Fancy, any sane
person talking of love and marriage between a boy and girl like that!
You must be joking, Mr Lorton. Really, it is too absurd to be
credible!" and she affected a laugh again, in her provoking way.
A capital joke, wasn't it?
"I am not joking, I assure you, Mrs Clyde," I answered sturdily,
endeavouring, vainly, to bear down her raillery by my gravity. "I was
never more serious in my life. I'm not a boy, Mrs Clyde; and I'm sure
Min is old enough to know her own mind, too!"
This was an impertinent addendum on my part; and, my opponent quickly
retorted, with a thrust, which recalled my good manners.
"You are very good to say so, Mr Lorton; but permit _me_ to judge best
in that matter! Pray, how old are you, Mr Lorton, if I may be allowed
to ask the question?"--she said, looking at me with great "society"
interest, as if she were examining a specimen of the extinct dodo.
"Three-and-twenty," I said sententiously, like a catechumen responding
to the questions supposed to be addressed to "N or M."
"Dear me!" she ejaculated in seeming surprise. "Three--and--twenty? I
really would not have thought it! I wouldn't have taken you to be more
than eighteen at the outside!"
She hit me on my tenderest point. I looked young for my age; and, like
most young fellows, before time teaches them wisdom, making them strive
to disguise the effect of each additional lustrum, I felt sore always
when supposed to be more youthful than I actually was. I was,
consequently, nettled at her remarks. She saw this, and smiled in
amusement.
"I _am_ twenty-three, however, Mrs Clyde, I assure you," I said warmly;
"old enough to get married, I suppose!"
"That entirely depends on circumstances," she said coldly, as if the
matter was of no interest to her whatever; "years are no criterion for
judgment"--and she then stopped, throwing the burden of the next move on
my shoulders.