“But she did not?” exclaimed Sir Philip.
“Well, no,” said Charley, “she did not, certainly—she only laughed; but she looked just as if she were half disposed. She’s one of your Spanish style of women: scents, too, tremendously—bathes in Ihlang-Ihlang, I should think; perhaps because she delights in garlic and onions, and wants to smother the odour!”
“My dear boy—my dear boy!” laughed Sir Philip, “you do really want polish horribly! What a way to speak of a lady! It’s terrible, you know! But there, don’t judge harshly, and you are perfectly unfettered; only just bear this in mind: it would give me great pleasure if you were to lead Laura Bray in here some day and say—But there, you know—you know! Still I place no tie upon you, Charley: only bring me some fair sweet girl—by birth a lady, of whom I can be proud—and then all I want is that you shall give me a chair at your table and fireside. You might have the title if it were possible, but you shall have the Court and the income—everything. Only let me have my glass of wine and my bit of snuff, and play with your children. Heaven bless you, my dear boy! I’ll go off the bench directly, and you shall be a county magistrate; but you must be married, Charley—you must be married!”
Charley Vining did not appear to be wonderfully elated by his future prospects, for, sighing, he said:
“Really, father, I could have been very happy to have gone on just as we are; but your wishes—”
“Yes, my dear boy, my wishes. And you will try? Only don’t bother yourself; take time, and mix a little more with society—accept a few more invitations—go to a few of the archery and croquet parties.”
“Heigho, dad!” sighed Charley. “Why, I should be sending arrows for fun in the stout old dowagers’ backs, and breaking the slow curates’ shins with my croquet mallet! There, leave me to my own devices, and I’ll see what I can do!”
“To be sure—to be sure, Charley! And you do know Maximilian Bray?”
“Horrid snob!” laughed Charley, “such a languid swell! Do you know what our set call him? But there, of course you don’t! ‘Donkey Bray’ or else ‘Long-ears!’”
“There, there—never mind that! I don’t want you to marry him, Charley. And there—there’s Beauty at the door!” exclaimed the old gentleman, shaking his son’s hand. “Go and have your ride, Charley! Good-bye! But you’ll think of what I said?”