Tom threw the poker into the fire-place with a crash, and stared blankly at his mother.
“Oh, Tom! oh, Tom!” she cried, hysterically, “the disgrace!—the disgrace!—the disgrace!”
“I—I—I don’t know what to do,” cried Lord Barmouth. “I can never stand it. It will be all the talk of the clubs. It’s—it’s—it’s—”
“It’s all damned nonsense, father!” cried Tom; “my sister isn’t such a fool.”
Chapter Twenty Four.
Tom assumes Command.
Ten minutes after Tom was busy trying to obtain some further information, after seeing his father comfortably settled down in the study with a good cigar and a pint bottle of port.
“May—may I have ’em, Tom, my boy?” he asked.