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Updated: May 27, 2025
"I give you two hours to decide which of us it is to be." I made toward the door. But Harry sprang for his rapier, picked it up and stood with his back against my exit, the point of his weapon to my breast. There was a wicked gleam in his narrow eyes. "Damn you! George Brammerton, for a sneaking, prying, tale-bearing lout; you dare not do it!" He took a step forward.
"I clasped Fred's hand and I thanked him for what he had done for me that day, right in the teeth of the Russian guns. "'Freddy, old chap, you're a trump, I said, 'and, if ever I be blessed with an heir to Brammerton and Hazelmere, I would wish nothing better than that he should marry a Granton.
Being merely George Brammerton, I must bow to the paternal commands, although I would rather, a hundred times, be at the games." Tom's face fell, and I could see he was disappointed. I knew how much he enjoyed those week-end excursions of ours. "The fact is," I explained, "there is going to be a marriage up there pretty soon, and, naturally, I am wanted to meet the lady." "Great Scott!
I asked, pushing my hands deep into my pockets and spreading my legs. He leaned back and surveyed me tolerantly. "'Gad! that's a beastly impertinent question, George. Why shouldn't it be an honour, when every gentleman in London will be biting his finger-tips with envy?" I nodded and went on. "You consider also that she will be honoured in marrying a Brammerton?"
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