“Hallo, mother. Morning, Nell!” cried the object under discussion, entering the breakfast-room and sliding languidly into his place. A sallow, loosely-built, light-haired youth, somewhat deficient in chin, and with an irritating drawl.
“At last, Hubert dear. I began to think you must have had a bad night, and was getting anxious!” said his mother fondly. “How are you this morning, my boy? You don’t look at all well.”
She was right—in one sense. He had had a bad night, the above-mentioned sporting hostelry containing proportionately less whisky and soda, not to mention other varieties of tipple more or less deleterious. The General’s hair would have stood straight on end had he known when and how his youngest-born had arrived home.
“Oh, I’m all right, mother,” growled that guileless youth, “except that I’ve got a deuce of a head on. But I say, what was the veteran looking so mortally black about just now? I met him on the stairs, or rather I saw him—he didn’t see me, thank Heaven—and he was scowling like an assassin. He had a lot of letters in his fist. By the way”—breaking off with a start of alarm—“no one has been dunning him about—about me, don’t you know. Eh?”
“No, no dear,” quickly answered his mother. “It was not about you. Your father is put out over his correspondence, but it is not about you. That I may say.”
“That’s lucky,” said Hubert, greatly relieved. “I didn’t know who might have been at him. But, mother, what was it about?” he persisted, his curiosity awakened in proportion as his fears were lulled.
“Nothing that you need mind,” returned Mrs Dorrien, rising and taking refuge from further questioning in flight.
“Nellie,” began the young man, as soon as his mother had left the room, “I wish you knew the Rectory people.”
“So do I. I just met the girls once at the Nevilles’ garden party, and rather liked them. But mamma would sooner cut off her head than have anything to say to them. But why do you wish it?”
“Oh, I don’t know. The eldest isn’t up to much—too cold and stuck up. As for the young one—Sophie—she’s a detestable brat. Tries to snub a fellow, don’t you know. Thinks herself no end clever. But the middle one—Olive—fact is, she’s a monstrously pretty girl.”