"I don't think the Marquis cared for him."
"Oh, he must have cared! His only child! And the poor mother;—think how she must feel."
"In spite of it all, I do think it's a very good thing that he's dead," said Jack, laughing.
"Then you ought to keep it to yourself, sir. It's a very horrid thing to say so. Wouldn't you like to smoke a cigar? You may, you know. Papa always smokes out here, because he says Mr. Groschut can't see him."
"Mr. Groschut is at Rudham," said Jack, as he took a cigar out of his case and lit it.
"At Rudham? What promotion!"
"He didn't seem to me to be a first-class sort of a fellow."
"Quite a last-class sort of fellow, if there is a last class. I'll tell you a secret, Captain De Baron. Mr. Groschut is my pet abomination. If I hate anybody, I hate him. I think I do really hate Mr. Groschut. I almost wish that they would make him bishop of some unhealthy place."
"So that he might go away and die?"
"If the mosquitoes would eat him day and night, that would be enough. Who else was there at Rudham?"