"Immensely to the detriment of the Constitution," said his Grace forensically.
"It won't be so in this case," said the Tenderfoot. "Any family is devilish lucky that persuades Mary Lawrence to enter it. She's a very exceptional girl. And when you see her, sir, I'm sure you'll say so."
"A young woman of ability, no doubt." The Duke was growing irritated beyond measure, yet he was determined to give no hint of his frame of mind. "These—these bohemians always are. But if you'll allow me to say so, the mere fact that she is ready to undertake responsibilities of which she can know nothing proves the nature of her limitations."
The hit was so palpable that Jack felt bound to counter it as well as he could. But his eagerness to do so led him into a tragic blunder. "That's where you do her an injustice," he said, not giving himself time to weigh his words. "She didn't know that she might have to be a duchess when she promised to marry me."
The folly of such a speech was apparent to the young man almost before it was uttered. A sudden heightening of a concentrated gaze made him curse his own damnable impetuosity. He saw at once that the admission would be used against him; moreover, an intense desire that Mary should have fair play led him into further pitfalls. "The odd thing is," he said in his blunderer's way, "that she happens to see things here at the angle at which you see them, sir. At least, I always tell her so."
His kinsman smiled. "That gives us hope at any rate." And he even showed a glint of cheerfulness.
The Tenderfoot had a desire to bite off his tongue.
