"
Captain Hawkins looked up and said rather seriously:
"Then, my Lord, I presume you don't know----"
"Don't know what?"
"That Miss Rennick is crossing in the care of Mrs. Van Stuyler, to be
married in London next month."
"The devil she is! And to whom, may I ask?" exclaimed his lordship,
pulling himself up very straight.
"To the Marquis of Byfleet, son of the Duke of Duncaster. I wonder you
didn't hear of it. The match was arranged last fall. From what people
say she's not very desperately in love with him, but--well, I fancy it's
like rather too many of these Anglo-American matches. A couple of
million dollars on one side, a title on the other, and mighty little
real love between them."
"But," said Redgrave between his teeth, "I didn't understand that Miss
Rennick ever had a fortune; in fact I'm quite certain that if her father
had been a rich man he'd have worked out his invention himself."
"Oh, the dollars aren't his. In fact they won't be hers till she
marries," replied the Captain. "They belong to her uncle, old Russell
Rennick. He got in on the ground floor of the New York and Chicago ice
trusts, and made millions. He's going to spend some of them on making
his niece a Marchioness. That's about all there is to it."
"Oh, indeed!" said Redgrave, still between his teeth. "Well, considering
that Byfleet is about as big a wastrel as ever disgraced the English
aristocracy, I don't think either Miss Rennick or her uncle will make a
very good bargain.
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