“It’s true then, gov’nor, that poor Maude has bolted?”
“Well, yes, my boy, I don’t think there’s a doubt about it.”
“Then that’s all your fault, gov’nor,” said Tom.
“My dear boy, don’t you turn upon me and bully me too. I—I—I’ve lost my poor little girl, and I—I—I can’t bear much. It’s such a disgrace. I know I ought to have stood up for her more, Tom, my boy, but her ladyship is so very strong-minded, you know.”
“Yes, I know,” said Tom. “She was too much for both of us, gov’nor. Well, it’s no use to fret about it that I see. The little filly’s taken the bit in her teeth, topped the hedge, and away she’s gone. And she so sly over it too!”
“She was very sorry to go, Tom, I’m sure. She was in such trouble to-day.”
“Yes,” said Tom, quietly, “we ought to have suspected something. How about old Wilters?”
“He’s nearly mad, my boy. He has—has—has been running round—round the drawing-room like—like—like—”
“A cat on hot bricks, father.”
“Yes, my son. He’s furious—he’s going to kill him.”