“Holland!” cried his lordship, more pettishly than ever—“Holland is conservative to the backbone. We were always sure of Holland.”
“Well, well,” said Ferdinand, in a voice of toleration, “we are at least as sure of him as ever.”
The allowance in the young man's manner exasperated the old nobleman. But he liked his young friend in spite of his insolence and tranquil swagger, and he dreaded to say something which might be too strong for the occasion.
“We will talk this question over at another time,” he said, controlling himself; “we will talk it over after dinner.”
“I must go vote-catching after dinner,” returned Ferdinand. “I promised to go and listen to the quartette party this evening.”
“Very well,” returned his lordship, with a sudden frostiness of manner. “I shall dine alone. Good-evening.”
He marched away, the senile nodding of his head accentuated into pettishness; and Ferdinand stood looking after him for a second or two with a smile, but presently thinking better of it, he hastened after the angry old man and overtook him.
“I am sorry, sir, if I disappoint you,” he said. “I don't want to do that, and I won't do it if I can help it.” The earl said nothing, but walked on with an injured air which was almost feminine. “Are you angry at my proposing to go to see old Fuller? I understood you to say yesterday that his vote was undecided, and that nothing was so likely to catch him as a little interest in his musical pursuits.”
“I have no objections to offer to your proposal,” replied his lordship, frostily—“none whatever.”
“I am glad to hear that, sir,” said Ferdinand, with rather more dryness than was needed. His lordship walked on again, and the young man lingered behind.