"No, hang him; nothing worse than his usual lung trouble, I suppose. But he is in Paris, and won't answer my letters."
"Letters, Freddy dear."
"Yes, Jane dear," he mocked. "Hang it, I want money, and he won't stump up. I can't even get an answer."
"Speak to Mr. Silver."
"Damn Mr. Silver!"
"Well, I'm sure, Frederick, you needn't swear at me," said poor, wan Lady Garvington, drawing herself up. "Mr. Silver is very kind. He went to that gypsy camp and found out how they cook hedgehog. That will be a new dish for you, dear. You haven't eaten hedgehog."
"No. And what's more, I don't intend to eat it. But you may as well tell me how these gypsies cook it," and Freddy listened with both his red ears to the description, on hearing which he decided that his wife might instruct the cook how to prepare the animal. "But no one will eat it but me."
Lady Garvington shuddered. "I shan't touch it myself. Those horrid snails you insisted on being cooked a week ago made me quite ill. You are always trying new experiments, Freddy."
"Because I get so tired of every-day dishes," growled Lord Garvington. "These cooks have no invention. I wish I'd lived in Rome when they had those banquets you read of in Gibbon."
"Did he write a book on cookery?" asked Lady Garvington very naturally.