“Gone, my lord—been missing hours. Her ladyship has been having fit after fit, and his lordship is ’most beside himself.”
“Bolted!” exclaimed Tom; and, running into the dining-room, he threw himself into a chair and laughed till his sides ached.
“Poor Wilters! oh, Lord, what a game! Cut!—skimmed!”
He got up, and stamped round the room in the very ecstasy of delight, “The little smug hypocrite!” he said. “That’s why she was so sanctified and sad to-day. Well, bless her, I like her pluck. Sold, my lady, sold!”
He suddenly woke up to the fact that he ought to go upstairs, and, turning serious, he walked into the hall.
“Where’s her ladyship, Robbins?” he asked.
“Upstairs, my lord.”
“Where’s Sir Grantley?”
“Went out, my lord, about ten, to find that tail, straight man, sir, as came—Mr Hurkle.”
“And he hasn’t found him?”