"I am jolly well not going to sit on the back seat of a dog-cart if I can help it; I would rather go about in a perambulator," I said.
"You are so confoundedly particular," he went on with a great guffaw of laughter, "but since it is Bunny's cart and I am going to drive I don't see how we can offer you any other seat."
"Who the blazes is Bunny?" I asked, for his name was beginning to get on my nerves, and Fred Foster sitting as dumb as a mute was enough to upset any one.
"I know him at home, his father is the Marquis of Tillford and his real name is Lord Augustus Langham, only his teeth stick out and every one calls him Bunny," Ward answered.
"Heaps of money?" I said.
"Plenty, I should think."
"Then he is no use to me, though he may be the best fellow in the world," I declared.
"You are a rum 'un, why he is just the sort of man who is some use."
"That depends," Foster said suddenly.
"Yes, it depends," I repeated, though I didn't know exactly what depended.