“Take him coolly. Yes, ma’amselle, I can the governor; but her ladyship.”
“Ah, yais, she is a womans. But see me, I do not complain; I am drag all ovaire Europe by her ladyship, who have rob me of my loaf till I return and see him once again. I do not complain.”
In the coffee-room her ladyship button-holed Lord Barmouth directly, and then took Tom’s seat at the table, while that gentleman grasped Tryphie’s hand.
“Oh, Tom,” she said, “what news?”
“You’ve both come,” he said shortly. “Is that all you have to say?”
“All? Ah, Tom dear, if you only knew how much.”
This was accompanied by so pleasant a pressure of the hand that Tom’s acidity began to evaporate in gas, and he turned to help his father, who was giving way under a vigorous attack. For as he approached the table her ladyship exclaimed, with a warning motion of her index finger—
“Now, Barmouth, your gout is much worse.”
“Ye-yes, my dear,” said his lordship, “I’m—I’m afraid it is.”
“Of course! You’ve been taking port wine recklessly.”