“Don’t know, and—”
“Don’t care, eh? Well, it was Launay the barber.”
“Tom!”
“Well, I don’t care; home’s wretched and I’m miserable. Besides, other people enjoy seeing me so. Maude is always going about the house like a ghost, or listening to that organ man. She’s going mad, I fancy. Then Charley Melton has turned out a fool to cave in as he has done, and Tryphie cuts me—”
“As you deserve.”
“That’s right, go it. The governor’s miserable, and that mummy Wilters is always here. Nice place to stop in. Perhaps I ought to aim higher than billiards, and keeping one’s cue in a japanned case hanging up in a public room. But look at me; hang it, I hardly get a shilling, if I don’t have some fellow at billiards. What have I to look forward to?”
Tryphie made a movement to continue her way, but Tom spread his hands so as to stop her descent.
“Will you have the goodness to allow me to pass, Lord Diphoos?” she said, demurely.
“Lord!” he cried, peevishly.
“Very well, then, most spoiled child of the house,” said Tryphie, maliciously, “Master Diphoos.”