“Oh, no—no—no—no, my boy, that would be very wrong. But what did he say?”
“Nothing. Shook his head and walked off.”
“Yes, yes. Quite right, my boy, quite right. Charley Melton would not do anything to degrade our Maudey like that.”
“Well, I would if I had a chance,” said Tom, “and if I hadn’t I’d make one.”
Chapter Nineteen.
Tom and the Tartar.
All the same though, consequent upon thinking so much about his sister, Tom made very little progress with his own love affairs.
Tryphie Wilder’s was not a very pleasant life at Lady Barmouth’s. She felt that she had been adopted out of charity, and in her bitterness she would sometimes call herself her ladyship’s abuse block, for that lady would call her “little wretch” in private with as much vigour as there was sweetness in the “my dear” of public life. Her ladyship had before now gone so far as to strike her. That very day Tryphie had her revenge, for, going into the drawing-room, she found Tom fast asleep on the sofa, and snipped off the ends of his moustache, wax and all. Tom awoke, and caught and kissed her, and she flew at him, boxed his ears, and then ran out of the room and upstairs, to strike her hand against the wall for being so cruel.