“My old friend’s particular friend is—not bad looking, Mrs. Haughton!”
“And so lively and pleasant,” returned Mrs. Haughton, with a slight rise of colour, but no other sign of embarrassment. “It may be a nice acquaintance for Lionel.”
“Mother!” cried that ungrateful boy, “you are not speaking seriously? I think the man is odious. If he were not my father’s friend, I should say he was—”
“What, Lionel?” asked the Colonel, blandly, “was what?”
“Snobbish, sir.”
“Lionel, how dare you?” exclaimed Mrs. Haughton. “What vulgar words boys do pick up at school, Colonel Morley.”
“We must be careful that they do not pick up worse than words when they leave school, my dear madam. You will forgive me, but Mr. Darrell has so expressly—of course, with your permission—commended this young gentleman to my responsible care and guidance; so openly confided to me his views and intentions,—that perhaps you would do me the very great favour not to force upon him, against his own wishes, the acquaintance of—that very good-looking person.”
Mrs. Haughton pouted, and kept down her rising temper. The Colonel began to awe her.
“By the by,” continued the man of the world, “may I inquire the name of my old friend’s particular friend?”
“His name? upon my word I really don’t know it. Perhaps he left his card; ring the bell, Lionel.”