"
Mrs. Bundercombe, with a quick movement to the left, blocked the way.
"That means a visit to the bar!" she declared. "I know you, Mr.
Bundercombe. You'll stay right here and listen to a little more of what
I've got to say. Who this gentleman may be I don't at present know," she
went on, turning suddenly upon me; "but I am agreeable to listen to his
name if any one has the manners to mention it."
"Walmsley, madam," I told her quickly, "Paul Walmsley. I have the honor to
be engaged to marry your stepdaughter."
Mrs. Bundercombe looked at me in stony silence. Twice she opened her lips,
and I am quite sure that if words had come they would have been unkind
ones. Twice apparently, however, her command of language seemed
inadequate.
"So you're going to marry an Englishman," she said, glaring at Eve.
"I am going to marry Mr. Walmsley, mother," Eve agreed sweetly. "He has
been such a kind friend to us during the last few days--and I rather fancy
I shall like living on this side."
"Dear me! Dear me! I hadn't heard of this!" Mr. Bundercombe remarked with
interest. "You and I will go downstairs and have a little chat about it,
Mr. Walmsley."
He made another strategic movement toward the door, which was promptly and
effectually frustrated by his wife.
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