“No, no; that was Mr. O'Shea, the Irish M.P., who, by the way, paid you the most persevering attention.”
“A hateful creature, insufferably pretentious and impertinent! The tutor was, then, the pale young man in black?”
“A nice, modest fellow,” broke in Sir William; “and a fine boy that young Marquis of Agincourt. I 'm glad you asked him up here, Charles. He is to come on Tuesday, is he not?”
“Yes, I said Tuesday, because I can't get my tackle to rights before that; and I promised to make him a fly-fisher. I owe him the reparation.”
“You included the tutor, of course, in your invitation?” asked his father.
“No. How stupid! I forgot him altogether.”
“Oh! that was too bad,” said May.
“Indeed,” cried Charles, turning towards her with a look of such malicious significance that she blushed deeply, and averted her head.
“Let us invite them all up here for Tuesday, May,” said Sir William. “It would be very unfair if they were to carry away only a disagreeable memory of this visit. Let us try and efface the first unhappy impression.”
“All right,” said Charles, “and I'll dash off a few lines to Mr. Layton, I think his name is, to say that we expect he will favor us with his company for a few days here. Am I not generosity itself, May?” said he, in a low whisper, as he passed behind her chair.