“How delicate! there's something touching in that, Balfour; isn't there?” said Sewell, with a grin. “How wonderfully you seem to have got up the case! You know the whole story. How did you manage it?”
“My fellow Paxley had it from Lady Trafford's maid. She told him that her mistress was determined to show all her son's papers to the Chief Baron, and blow you sky high.”
“That's awkward, certainly,” said Sewell, in deep thought. “It would be a devil of a conflagration if two such combustibles came together. I 'd rather she 'd fight it out with my mother.”
“Have you sent in your papers to the Horse Guards?”
“Yes; it's all finished. I am gazetted out, or I shall be on Tuesday.”
“I'm sorry for it. Not that it signifies much as to this registrarship. We never intended to relinquish our right to it, we mean to throw the case into Chancery, and we have one issue already to submit to trial at bar.”
“Who are we that are going to do all this?”
“The Crown,” said Balfour, haughtily.
“Ego et rex meus; that's the style, is it? Come now, Balfy, if you 're for a bet, I 'll back my horse, the Chief Baron, against the field. Give me sporting odds, for he 's aged, and must run in bandages besides.”
“That woman's coming here at this moment was most unlucky.”