Now, Colonel Smith had never concealed his opinion that, however much evil that unhappy man James Roberts had to answer for, yet he deserved a scrap of grateful memory, inasmuch as he had by his action averted the calamity that was threatening the town, and, furthermore, robbed Dale Bannister of the chance of prostituting his genius. Accordingly, when it was announced in the Standard, three or four weeks after James Roberts had shot at Dale Bannister and wounded Nellie Fane, that the Duke had given a conditional promise to pay his deferred visit in June, the Colonel laid down the paper and said to the rest of the breakfast party at Mount Pleasant—and the Colonel must bear the responsibility for the terms he thought proper to employ:
"That old fool Cransford has nobbled the whippersnapper again! We're to have him after all! Good Lord!"
Tora at once appreciated his meaning.
"Papa means the Prince is coming, Nellie!" cried she. "How splendid!"
"Bannister will have a chance of blacking his boots now," pursued the Colonel, trying to impose a malignant sneer on his obstinately kindly countenance.
"You are not to say such things," said Nellie emphatically. "You know you don't mean them."
"Not mean them?" exclaimed the Colonel.
"No. You're not horrid, and it's no use trying to make yourself horrid. Is it, Tora?"
Tora's thoughts were far away.