There was a small unpleasant pause, broken by a loud sniff from Lydia.
Then my Lady said: “Indeed. I understood the young gentleman was at Bristol.”
My Lord was not misled by the quietness of her tone. “Ah, God help you, Kitty,” he exclaimed, flustered. “Sure you never believed you could keep a lad of that kidney with his nose in a desk? Didn’t he off with himself with his first three months’ salary, and hasn’t his luck been the talk of Bath, barring the let-down of a sorrel filly at the point-to-point? And sure, if it hadn’t been that the dice has been going against him the last three or four days——” he broke off.
Kitty sat like an image of scorn; and my Lord, seeing that his mission did not seem likely to be blessed with success, proceeded in nettled tones:
“The long and the short of it is, I’ve promised Jocelyn we’d see to it. ’Tis only a matter of ninety-seven pound ten, when all is said and done. And that to a livery stableman.”
He drew a crumpled sheet of blue paper from his pocket as he spoke. Kitty unexpectedly stretched out her hand; with a sigh of relief he put it into it.
“I knew you’d be the first to say it ought to be paid, my dearest life.”
“Certainly, it ought to be paid, Denis.”
“You wouldn’t wish the poor dear lad—and him as pleasant over the green cloth as ever I met—to be penned up in the sponging house. Besides which,” added Kilcroney, in imprudent reminiscence, “don’t I know, isn’t it the mischief once you get into one of those holes! ’Tis like a sheep in a ditch: the sky is black with crows after you in a twinkling.”
“Very sad,” said my Lady.