“Frank saw the folly of his proceedings, and grew sensible,” said the Rector.
“Oh, did he!” muttered Cyril.
“The word flirtation, Cyril,” said the Rector firmly, “is a disgrace to our civilisation, and one that ought certainly to be heard from no decent lips.”
“Matter of opinion, of course,” said Cyril; and he placed his hands under his head and stared straight out of the window, while the Rector and his wife exchanged glances.
“Cyril,” said the former at last, after a struggle to keep down his anger, “I will not quarrel with you.”
“That’s right, governor. I hate quarrelling.”
“But while you are under my roof I must be obeyed.”
“Don’t think any man has a more obedient son,” replied Cyril.
“The time, however, has now come when some plan must be devised for you to make a fresh start in life upon your own account.”
“’Pon my word, father, I don’t see it. I’m very comfortable as I am.”