“Mrs Captain Bellman!” cried Tom, savagely. “Look here, Tryphie, I thought we had settled him, and now you bring him up again like an evil spirit in a play. I tell you what it is, if somebody does not shoot that great moustached scoundrel, I will.”
“What, such a handsome, gentlemanly man?” said Tryphie, sarcastically.
“Handsome? Gentlemanly? The narrow-minded scoundrel! Look here, Tryphie, a man may do worse things than smoke cigars and play billiards. Damme, I can say I never caused a woman the heartache, or deceived my friend.”
“Are you sure, Tom?” said Tryphie, looking up at him with a melancholy droll expression upon her countenance.
“Tryphie!” he cried, running to her, and catching her hand.
“Get along, you silly boy,” she cried, laughing; and he turned away with a look of annoyance, but Maude caught his arm.
“Tom, dear,” she said, laying her head upon his shoulder, “come what may, you will always think kindly of me.”
“Why of course, my dear,” he said, “always. I shall think of you as the dearest and best of sisters, who always stuck up for me, and kept herself poor by lending me—no, hang it, I won’t be a humbug—giving me nearly all her allowance. Maude, old girl: I’m afraid we young fellows are terribly selfish beasts. Look here,” he cried, excitedly, to hide the tears that would come into his eyes, “I tell you what; I can get half a dozen fellows together who’ll help me burke old Wilters if you’ll say the word.”
“Don’t be foolish, Tom dear,” sighed Maude. “I must go now to papa. I want to stay with him all day. Thank you, dear Tom; be kind to him when I’m gone.”
“That I will, dear,” he said; and, embracing him fondly, Maude hurried away out of the room.