"
And thus, spasmodically, the conversation ran till the last servant had
left the room.
Then Miltoun, without preparation, looked straight at his father and
said:
"I want to marry Mrs. Noel, sir."
Lord Valleys received the shot with exactly the same expression as that
with which he was accustomed to watch his horses beaten. Then he raised
his wineglass to his lips; and set it down again untouched. This was the
only sign he gave of interest or discomfiture.
"Isn't this rather sudden?"
Miltoun answered: "I've wanted to from the moment I first saw her."
Lord Valleys, almost as good a judge of a man and a situation as of a
horse or a pointer dog, leaned back in his chair, and said with faint
sarcasm:
"My dear fellow, it's good of you to have told me this; though, to be
quite frank, it's a piece of news I would rather not have heard."
A dusky flush burned slowly up in Miltoun's cheeks. He had underrated
his father; the man had coolness and courage in a crisis.
"What is your objection, sir?" And suddenly he noticed that a wafer in
Lord Valleys' hand was quivering. This brought into his eyes no look
of compunction, but such a smouldering gaze as the old Tudor Churchman
might have bent on an adversary who showed a sign of weakness. Lord
Valleys, too, noticed the quivering of that wafer, and ate it.
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