"Seventeen, I suppose," said Phineas.
"More likely twenty-two," said Mr. Bonteen. "There is Colcleugh so ill they can't possibly bring him up, and young Rochester is at Vienna, and Gunning is sulking about something, and Moody has lost his eldest son. By George! they pressed him to come up, although Frank Moody won't be buried till Friday."
"I don't believe it," said Lord Brentford.
"You ask some of the Carlton fellows, and they'll own it."
"If I'd lost every relation I had in the world," said Fitzgibbon, "I'd vote on such a question as this. Staying away won't bring poor Frank Moody back to life."
"But there's a decency in these matters, is there not, Mr. Fitzgibbon?" said Lady Laura.
"I thought they had thrown all that kind of thing overboard long ago," said Miss Fitzgibbon. "It would be better that they should have no veil, than squabble about the thickness of it."
Then dinner was announced. The Earl walked off with Miss Fitzgibbon, Barrington Erle took Mrs. Bonteen, and Mr. Fitzgibbon took Lady Laura.
"I'll bet four pounds to two it's over nineteen," said Mr. Bonteen, as he passed through the drawing-room door. The remark seemed to have been addressed to Mr. Kennedy, and Phineas therefore made no reply.
"I daresay it will," said Kennedy, "but I never bet."