“Is it not just intolerable to hear him?” said Cecil, who had made his way to them.
“‘What is bred in the bone—‘” said Jock. “What’s that? Chopin? Sydney, will you condescend to the apothecary’s boy?”
As he led her to the dancing-room, she asked, “You can’t really mean this, Jock. Cecil is breaking his heart about it.”
“There are worse trades.”
“But it is such a cruel pity!”
“What? The execution I shall make,” he said lightly.
“For shame, Jock!”
But he went on teasing her, because their hearts were so very full. “‘Tis just the choice between various means of slaughter.”
“Don’t!” she exclaimed. “Something can be done to prevent your throwing yourself away. Why can’t you exchange?”
“It is too late to get into any corps where I should not be an expense to my mother,” said Jock, regretting his decision a good deal more when he found how she regarded it.