“What do you think?”
“Well, my boy, I hardly know what to say. Her ladyship is very particular, but then, you see, my boy, she studies my health more than I do and I’ve no doubt it is quite right.”
“I dare say it is, dad, but come along.”
“Yes, my boy, yes,” said Lord Barmouth, taking his son’s arm; “but really, Tom, I begin to wish I was back within reach of my club.
“Oh, dear! oh, dear!” he added sotto voce, “I wonder whether they have gone.”
“What say, governor?”
“Nothing, my boy, nothing. Talking to myself.”
“Bad habit, gov’nor.”
“Yes, my boy, yes,” he said in acquiescence. But bad as was the habit, he kept on, as he told himself that he hoped Maudey had gone, and yet he hoped she had not; and he kept on getting deeper and deeper into a bog of bewilderment, till he found himself seated at a little table opposite his son, listening to the gurgling of wine in a glass, and that brought him back from his maze of troubled thought at once.
“What—what could have induced her ladyship to come out here?” he said, with a piteous expression upon his countenance.