"What d'you mean, grandpapa?"
"It doesn't matter what I mean. I shall do it anyhow."
And he did. A week later he went off for a couple of days "on the razzle-dazzle." I asked our curate if he knew the idiom. He was but recently ordained, after an undistinguished career at the University of Oxford. He said that to "go on the razzle-dazzle" meant a round of picture galleries, museums, and similar institutions, where healthy amusement might be found mingled with instruction.
"Many and many a time have I done likewise myself, Mrs. Dolphin, in the good old days of the Polytechnic," he said. "Your son will return all the better for his trip."
This, coming from a cleric, comforted me not a little.
Grandpapa certainly did seem happier after his holiday. He presently re-appeared devoid of money, but in an excellent temper. I trusted that he would take more of these excursions in future, for they served to distract his thoughts and do him good.
He was full of one topic.
"I saw the Hopskipchoff yesterday. She's quite the rage, and her romance about Viscount Dolphin is a regular joke in the music halls. I sat pretty tight, I can tell you. Not that she would recognise me, now my beard's gone. Fancy liking her! What beastly bad taste old Johnnies of five-and-forty have! Why, she's all paint, and eyes, and false hair--no more a princess than you are, Martha."
"I'm thankful you escaped that snare, dear grandpapa."
"Yes, but she's hunting for Viscount Dolphin still. Several chance acquaintances I made told me that she is. She tried Marlborough House, but that didn't wash. They shot her out mighty quick, and she says it's a conspiracy. Daresay she'll find me some day trundling a hoop or playing peg-top in the gutter. I shall be a legal infant before anybody can look round."