"It will grow upon me, of course."
"My dear aunt always trained me to be scrupulously punctual. She never allowed slipshod ways. But your dear father was different. He never could be in time for things. I hope you do not mean to take after him."
"Might do worse!" muttered the chafed Cyril. He had tender recollections of his father, and could ill endure to hear him discussed by Sybella.
"What do you say? I really cannot hear when you mumble so, Cyril . . . Is there anything wrong with the soup? You are not taking any . . . Lady Lucas has been here to-day, calling. And she told me a most dreadful thing. About that miserable nephew of hers—"
"Lady Lucas is an awful old gossip."
"Really, Cyril—"
"There's no need, at all events, to retail her scandal in public."
Something in the suppressed voice warned even Sybella to desist for a while.
When dessert was on the table, and the man had vanished, she began anew—
"I must tell you now! It is not a matter of choice, but of duty—a positive necessity, for your own sake. As for Pearce hearing—everybody will know, so I do not see that it makes much difference. That wretched man, Captain Lucas—No, I cannot be interrupted, Cyril! I really must for once speak out! That wretched man, Captain Lucas, was actually—absolutely—carried home yesterday evening by two policemen—dead drunk! Yes, it is a fact! There can be no possible mistake. It is a most fearful disgrace. Everybody is talking about it, and pitying Lady Lucas. He was seen reeling about in the streets, like any common creature out of a public-house."