“Not smoke, dad!” laughed Charley. “Why not? Perhaps as soon as the knot is tied, I may be forbidden.”
“Stuff, my dear boy! But this morning, think of the odour; the ladies, Charley, the ladies!”
“My dear father,” laughed the young man quite merrily, “surely you are not going to sprinkle that elaborate frill with snuff. Think, dad, the ladies, the ladies!”
“Go and have your havana,” laughed Sir Philip. “I daresay the fresh air will take off the smell.”
“You won’t smoke, of course?” said Charley to his friends.
“O, no, not this morning, thank you,” said one. “We’ll pay attention to your boxes when we come back.”
Charley nodded carelessly, strolled out in his wedding trim, stood upon the broad façade, and lit a cigar, and then walked slowly down towards the avenue.
“Mind, Charley, at half-past ten precisely. Don’t forget the carriages!” cried Sir Philip, throwing up a window as his son passed.
“All right,” said Charley quietly; and the next instant he had disappeared among the trees.