‘Certainly, sir.’
‘Hum—ah—well—you spoke last evening of Whitbury, did you not?’
‘I believe I did, sir.’
‘Ah, yes—well, perhaps you might have observed a little constraint in my manner, did you?—a little absence of my usual frank heartiness—eh?’
‘I certainly did notice something odd. I fancied it might be a threatening of cholera,’ answered Tor, ‘you went so green.’
‘Ha! ha! Very good—cholera indeed! What a wag you are, Philip! No, no—now let us see—what was I saying? Oh, Whitbury? yes; and Miss Marjory Descartes. I suppose my name was not mentioned between you?’
‘She seemed to know the name Belassis, when it came up casually in conversation. I believe she had known a Belassis in past days. A relation of yours?’
‘Ah well, never mind now. I know you’re not a chatterer, Philip, and I’m going to make a father confessor of you. Ha! ha! that’s rather good, isn’t it? I say, old chap, do you know what wild oats are?’
He dug Tor playfully in the ribs. The young man smiled, and answered readily:
‘Well, yes, sir; I have some acquaintance with the article. They are generally pleasanter things to sow than to reap.’