"Pip" Part 33

"Armstrong" turned extremely pink.

"Look here," continued Lottie breezily, "I'm tired of calling you Armstrong. What's your name?"

"Er--John."

"Right-o! I shall call you Jack. And now, Jack, I want to ask you something. What are you doing driving a motor-car?"

"Jack" regarded his mistress with some apprehension.

"Why shouldn't I drive a motor-car?" he asked, rather defiantly.

"Why? Because you're a gentleman. Bless you, dear boy, do you think I didn't spot that long ago? What was it--debts?"

"Debts" seemed to meet the requirements of the situation without unduly straining the truth, so Pip nodded.

"Ah!" said Miss Lottingar sympathetically; "I know. We have been that way all our lives in our family."

Pip thought of Broadoak Manor and its present proprietor, and felt no surprise.

"Dad has lived on his wits ever since I can remember," continued Miss Lottingar. "I suppose you see what sort of a customer he is?" she added, in a sudden burst of candour.

Pip nodded again. "I think I do," he said.

"He's a game old chap, is Dad," continued the dutiful daughter, "but he's on the lowest peg at present. However, I landed the Honourable last night, so things ought to look up now."

Pip, who regarded the love of a man for a maid as something rather more sacred than honour itself, fairly gasped at this offhand remark.

"You mean--you are engaged to him?"

"Yes," said the Princ.i.p.al Boy in a matter-of-fact tone. "He asked me last night at the 'George,' when you were tinkering at the car."

"Oh! Congratulations!" said Pip awkwardly.

"Thanks. But all the hard work has to come yet."

"What do you mean?"

"We've landed him. Now we have to skin him!"

After this somewhat unfeeling reference to her intended, Miss Lottie sat silent, evidently wondering whether her sudden liking for the quiet chauffeur had not caused her to be a little indiscreet.

Presently Pip said--

"I suppose he has gone to London to tell his father?"

"The Earl? Not much. I made Fitz promise to avoid the old man till I gave him leave. He has gone up to town for the engagement ring. When he gets back to-morrow he is going to write and tell him everything. That will bring his lordship down here double-quick, and we'll settle everything in one fair, square, up-and-down sc.r.a.p." Miss Lottingar almost smacked her lips.

"Will the Earl object, then?"

"Object? My dear boy, look at me!"

Pip looked. He saw a pair of bold black eyes, a very red and entrancing mouth, a _retrousse_ nose, an alluringly dimpled chin, and a good deal of glinting coppery hair. Individually these features were distinctly attractive, but there was something about the _tout ensemble_ that supplied an immediate answer to the owner's extremely frank question.

"You'll know me again," said Miss Lottingar, rather faintly.

"Beg your pardon," said Pip, ungluing his gaze with a jerk. "Bad habit I've got. Yes, perhaps he will object."

"I should think so. 'Fast girl--shady father--with all their goods in the shop window!' That's what the old man will see, if he's the least bit less of a fool than his son."

"But," said Pip, "won't he consent if he sees that you really--care for each other?"

"Afraid he won't see that," said Miss Lottingar composedly.

Pip stared.

"You mean you don't really care for Fitznorton at all?" he said.

"My dear boy, have you _seen_ him?" inquired Lottie plaintively.

"Yes. But--why on earth are you going to marry him?"

"I'm not quite certain that I am," said the Princ.i.p.al Boy coolly.

"But you said you were."

"I said I was engaged to him."

"Sorry! I had an idea it was the same thing," said Pip.

Lottie gazed at him, not without a certain admiration.

"Not quite," she said. "You're a simple old chap, Jack, but I like you for it; so I'll tell you what we are going to do. When the Earl comes down here--the day after to-morrow, I expect--Dad and I will interview him. Fitz won't be there: I shall send him out into the woods to chase rabbits. Then we shall point out to the old dear that if the engagement is not permitted my heart will be broken."

"Oh!"

"You see?"

"I begin to. What will it cost to repair it?"

"A hundred thousand pounds."

"You value your heart at rather a high figure."

"He can afford the money: it's a mere fleabite to him. He is one of the richest men in England."

"Well?"

"If he agrees, I sign a paper renouncing all claim to Fitz. The Earl writes a cheque, takes Fitz home in a bandbox, and Dad is on his legs again. That's all."