"He's not a ha'porth the worse, sir," said Frank, still holding his father's hand.
"Oh, isn't he!" said Harry, shrugging his shoulders. "He must be made of some very tough article then."
"But my dear boys, I hope there's no danger. I hope there's no danger."
"Danger!" said Frank, who could not yet induce himself to believe that he had been allowed a fair chance with Mr Moffat.
"Oh, Frank! Frank! how could you be so rash? In the middle of Pall Mall, too. Well! well! well! All the women down at Greshamsbury will have it that you have killed him."
"I almost wish I had," said Frank.
"Oh, Frank! Frank! But now tell me—"
And then the father sat well pleased while he heard, chiefly from Harry Baker, the full story of his son's prowess. And then they did not separate without another slight repast and another bottle of claret.
Mr Moffat retired to the country for a while, and then went abroad; having doubtless learnt that the petition was not likely to give him a seat for the city of Barchester. And this was the end of the wooing with Miss Gresham.