“But I don’t,” said Alick, smiling. “Far from it. It is a capital game for you and your boys.”
“I thought—I thought you disapproved and could not bear it,” said Lady Temple, wondering and wistful.
“Can’t bear is not disapprove. Indeed,” seeing that gentle earnest alone could console her, “there is no harm in the game itself. It is a wholly personal distaste, arising from my having been bored with it when I was ill and out of spirits.”
“But is not there something about it in ‘Punch?’” she still asked, so anxiously, that it was impossible not to smile; but there was not a particle of that subdued mockery that was often so perplexing in him, as he replied, “Certainly there is about its abuse as an engine for flirtation, which, to tell you the truth, was what sickened me with the sight at Littleworthy; but that is not the line Con and Francie will take just yet. Why, my uncle is specially addicted to listening to croquet, and knows by the step and sound how each player is getting on, till he is quite an oracle in disputed hits.”
“So Bessie told me,” said Fanny, still feeling that she had been taken in and the brother unkindly used; “but I can’t think how she could, when you don’t like it.”
“Nobody is bound to respect foolish prejudices,” said Alick, still quite in earnest. “It would have been very absurd not to introduce it.”
“Come, Alick,” said Bessie, advancing, “have you absolved her, and may we begin? Would it not be a generous act of amnesty if all the present company united in a match?”
“Too many,” said Alick, “odd numbers. I shall go down and call on Miss Williams. May I come back, Lady Temple, and have a holiday from the mess?”
“I shall be very glad; only I am afraid there is no dinner.”
“So much the better. Only let me see you begin, or I shall never dare to express an opinion for the future.”