Then he turned to the Americans.
“Gentlemen,” he said, “my name is Cavendish—Charles Cavendish, son of Sir Henry Giles Cavendish, of Grantham. This is a particular friend of our family, Sir Augustus Camberwell. I wish to thank you most heartily and sincerely for your brave defense of Flavia. Permit me to shake hands with you all.”
“Yes,” said Sir Augustus, “very gallant, really. Just like you queer Americans. Never stop to inquire into an affair where a woman is concerned. Always go in and stand by the woman. Splendid sentiment, but dangerous.”
Sir Augustus now turned his attention to Flavia, at whom he gazed in a manner that Dick did not fancy.
“Very charming, my dear Charlie,” he admitted. “I’m beginning to understand how it happened. Oh, you rascal! Where would you be now if I wasn’t in Athens? Why, you would be in jail. It took my influence to get you out.”
“For which I thank you most sincerely, Sir Augustus.”
“All right, my boy—all right. But you want to remember my advice. You want to remember what I told you about getting in too deep. Oh, you rascal! you’re going to be another case with the girls, just as your father was before you. Many’s the little toot we’ve been on together, and Henry always was getting entangled with a female.”
“Well, what do you think of that, pard?” whispered Buckhart, in Dick’s ear.
“I think Sir Augustus is smelly,” was the answer.
Professor Gunn was likewise far from pleased. He regarded the older Englishman with an air of pronounced distrust and suspicion.