“Why, governor!” cried Tom.
“Go on, Mr Hurkle, please. Lord Barmouth, I beg you will not leave the room.”
“Certainly not, my dear,” said his lordship, rubbing his leg.
“Proceed, Mr Hurkle,” said her ladyship, sternly.
“Hem! Yes, my lady. ‘C.M. and his lordship went together to Regal Café, Regal Street. Dined there.’”
“Oh!” ejaculated her ladyship, with eyes growing very tight. “Proceed.”
“But I say, you sir,” cried Tom, “wasn’t I there?”
“No, my lord. Hem!”
“Wish I had been. I say, gov’nor, it was shabby of you.”
Lord Barmouth squirmed—to use his son’s words.