“Well, now then, dear—may I say dear?”
“If you please, Lord Diphoos,” said Tryphie. “I can’t help it.”
“Well, I’m going to be energetic now, and see if I can’t do something for Maude.”
“What are you going to do?”
“See Charley Melton and stir him up. Then I shall stir up the gov’nor and Maude, and if none of these things do any good I shall have a go at Wilters.”
“Ah,” said Tryphie, “now I’m beginning to believe in you, and there is some hope that I shall not be forced into a marriage with that odious Captain Bellman.”
“Tryphie,” whispered Tom, as he stared, “just say that again.”
She shook her head.
Tom looked upstairs and then down, saw nobody, and hastily catching the little maiden in his arms, stole a kiss before she fled, when, giving his head a satisfied shake, he went down to the hall, saw that his hat was brushed, and went off to Duke street, in utter ignorance of the fact that his father had been sitting in the curtained recess on the landing, where the flowers dwindled in a kind of conservatory, calmly devouring a piece of Bologna sausage and half a French roll.
“He, he, he,” chuckled the old gentleman, “that’s how they make love when they’re young. I was—was—was a devil of a fellow among the ladies when I was Tom’s age; but somehow now I never want to meet her ladyship on the stairs and kiss her. I’d—I’d—I’d a doosed deal rather have a nice piece of chicken, or a bit of tongue.”