“I think you are an abandoned little wretch,” Bobby said, and dismissed the subject. It was so very evident that the curate as a rival for Prudence’s favour was a negligible quantity.
“Pretty tame, these old tabby meetings,” Bobby remarked presently. “Why don’t they do something in this benighted hole?”
“That’s what I am always wondering. I am looking to you to come home and wake the place up.”
“Paint it red?” he suggested, grinning.
“Paint it any colour, save the drab hues which at present disfigure it. There isn’t any earthly reason why people should remain satisfied to be so dull. What are you going to do when you come home to settle?”
“Well, the first thing I shall do will be to marry—in order to get away from the Court,” he replied with decision. “I refuse to be aunt-pecked any longer than necessity demands.”
“Does that include me?” Prudence inquired with irony.
“You! Oh Lord!” He threw back his head and laughed. “You can come along and share my emancipation.”
“Thank you.” Prudence’s small chin was elevated, her lip curled disdainfully. “I shall contrive my own emancipation,” she said.
“How?” he asked, suddenly interested.