“I should say not. A damned, hollow-eyed fanatic.”
“Is he as good-looking as David, father? What does he look like?”
Mr. Cord hesitated. “Well, a little like my engraving of Thomas Jefferson as a young man.”
“He looks as if he might have a bomb in his pocket.”
“Oh, Eddie, do keep quiet, there’s a dear, and let father give me one of his long, wonderful accounts. Go ahead, father.”
“Well,” said Mr. Cord, helping himself from a dish that Tomes was presenting to him, “as I told you, Eddie had dropped in very kindly to scold me about you, when Tomes announced Mr. Moreton. Tomes thought he ought to be put straight out of the house. Didn’t you, Tomes?”
“No, sir,” said Tomes, who was getting used to his employer, although he did not encourage this sort of thing, particularly before the footmen.
“Well, Moreton came in and said, very simply—”
“Has he good manners, father?”
“He has no manners at all,” roared Eddie.