“She has a father, by Jove!—she has a father!”
“May I be so bold as to ask—”
“Oh, you know him well!—all the world knows him, for the matter of that. What do you say to Kit Davis,—Grog!”
“Grog Davis, my Lord?—Grog Davis!”
“Just so,” said Beecher, lighting a cigar with an affected composure he intended to pass off for great courage.
“Grog—Grog—Grog!—wonderful fellow! astonishing fellow! up to everything! and very amusing! I must say, my Lord,—I must say, your Lordship's father-in-law is a very remarkable man.”
“I rather suspect he is, Twining.”
“Under the circumstances,—the actual circumstances, I should say, my Lord, keep your engagement,—keep your engagement.”
“I understand you, Twining; you don't fancy Master Grog. Well, I know an opinion of that kind is abroad. Many people are afraid of him; I never was,—eh?” The last little interrogative was evoked by a strange smile that flickered across Twining's face. “You suspect that I am afraid of him, Twining; now, why should I?”
“Can't possibly conceive, my Lord,—cannot imagine a reason.”